


But I'm Smiling At Everything

by heckhansol



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Violence, WARNINGS ARE AS FOLLOWS, a lot of angst but some happiness and fluff too, major angst, mentions/thoughts of suicide, rape/non con, smut in some, these are based on All Time Low songs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-16 06:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckhansol/pseuds/heckhansol
Summary: A short series of random one shots based on songs by All Time Low. Even if you don’t like the band, these are still some of my best work (in the second half lol). There’s a brief “summary” of each one in its part. Enjoy!(See Chapter 1 notes for Disclaimer)





	1. Don't You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeonghan and Jisoo meet at one of those rich people parties and go home together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I wrote the first five of these a while ago (mid 2016), but under a different, much more regrettable fandom… Just saying that in case someone finds something similar on here under an orphan account and wants to know about plagiarism—these are all originally mine, just with different character names and a few different lines because Seventeen is light years better than the original characters.  
> That said, hope you like them!

Jeonghan wakes on Saturday morning to nothing but his body telling him maybe it’s time to get up. He turns his head to the right and sees in the clock on his bedside table that it’s almost midday. He yawns and pushes his hair out of his face, and rolls all the way onto his side, shaking the bed. His eyes move a little lower to a torn silver packet on the floor. He flushes red, hot in his face, remembering what actually happened last night. He wishes he hadn’t just shaken the bed so much—it’s rude. The other two packets are on the other side of the bed.

            He pushes himself up a little from the mattress and this time when he rolls over, he barely makes a motion. He lowers himself back down and lets his eyes rest on the lean golden back displayed in the light in front of him, surprised to still see it there.

            He remembers clearly when he saw and met Jisoo yesterday evening.

 

_He walks into the doorway to the banquet room of the hotel and picks up a champagne glass. He goes into the room and gives quick hellos to people he might recognize if he thinks hard enough. His eyes land on someone he knows is new, and he can suddenly hear the piano in the corner a little better. Someone in a dark grey suit with a sweet smile on his face over a jawline that could cut diamonds, catlike made-up eyes, perfectly styled dusty pink hair. He’s talking to an elderly woman, but she leaves just as Jeonghan decides maybe he wants to meet this person. Jeonghan takes his chance and goes to him._

_Jeonghan says, “She didn’t seem to be your type.”_

_The man turns to him and gives him that smile. “Not quite.”_

_Jeonghan bows. “Yoon Jeonghan.”_

_Hong Jisoo tells him his name and bows in return, a little lower, and Jeonghan doesn’t step away for the rest of their time at the party._

            Jisoo isn’t awake yet. Jeonghan watches for a moment his soft breathing and the way his body moves up and down ever so slightly with it. Jeonghan knows the way Jisoo’s body moves now. But he realizes as he watches him sleep that he wants to know more. He wonders if Jisoo wants that too.

            Jeonghan admires Jisoo already, and not just because of what they did. Jisoo is mellow and smart and easy to talk to. Jeonghan remembers what Jisoo does for his job, remembers thinking it’s way more interesting than what he does. He thinks now that it really fits Jisoo perfectly.

 

_“I’m in marketing,” Jeonghan tells him._

_Jisoo nods. “I bet you’ve always been comfortable, haven’t you.” Jisoo doesn’t say it with any sort of spite. He’s giving Jeonghan his sweet smile and when he sips his champagne his bright dark eyes stay locked with Jeonghan’s._

_Jeonghan shrugs. “Except when I was in school.”_

_Jisoo laughs with his eyes, crinkling at the corners. “I can imagine.”_

_“What do you do?” Jeonghan asks._

_“Surely nothing as sophisticated as you. I only went to school for four years.”_

_It’s the first time Jeonghan thinks that maybe Jisoo is flattering him on purpose. That maybe Jisoo is flirting with him. Maybe Jeonghan is flirting with Jisoo too._

_He shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous. All I do is stare at paperwork every day.”_

_“All I do is stare at art.”_

_Jeonghan’s eyes widen a little. “You’re an artist?” He doesn’t know whether to be surprised or not. This party is high-end; the only people here are those whose salaries have six or more figures in them. Artists typically have…fewer than that. But this is Seoul. Jeonghan supposes anything is possible. And it explains the colored hair._

_But Jisoo says, “Sort of. I do love art, but I’m not very good at producing it no matter how hard I try. Do you know of Pledis? Over on the east side?”_

_Jeonghan thinks he may have been in the gallery once or twice. It’s interesting—set into sections with one filled with gorgeous nineteenth-century-style pieces and the next with simple black and white linework and the next with fluorescent colors slapped onto canvas. It’s a popular place—lots of high-end dealers go in, he hears. He thinks that it might be the only art gallery he’s ever found the slightest bit interesting or beautiful._

_“I’m vaguely familiar,” he says, curious to know which piece in there is Jisoo’s._

_“I own it,” Jisoo says._

_Jeonghan tries to hide his surprise. That makes Jisoo far richer than he will ever be—he feels almost ashamed over thinking otherwise. It certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. But he can feel it drawing him in even further than he already is. He tries to hold it back, but the words come slipping out anyway: “Holy shit.”_

_Jisoo’s smile changes, curling up on the corners a little more. For a brief second as he sips his champagne again, his eyes flick over Jeonghan’s shoulder, past him, to the doorway out of the room. And then they return to Jeonghan’s eyes and remain once more._

_Jeonghan knows Jisoo isn’t looking at anyone that just walked in. Jisoo is looking at the doorway itself—the way out of this party. The way leading to whichever flat they choose to return to tonight. Jeonghan feels his belly get hot, and he keeps Jisoo’s gaze._

            Jisoo shifts slightly, brings one arm further up above his head. Jeonghan watches his shoulderblade move under his skin. His beautiful golden skin. He remembers asking, when he decided to get his second glass of champagne.

 

_When Jeonghan asks what part of Korea Jisoo is from—wondering if it was maybe Busan or another city on the water—he’s surprised again when Jisoo tells him he grew up in America._

_“Los Angeles, actually,” Jisoo says. “I spent my younger years—even through college, admittedly—out in the sun and on the beaches. Maybe that’s why my skin is the color it is.” He holds up his champagne glass, putting his long fingers on display. It makes Jeonghan want to see a lot more of his skin._

_Jeonghan feels himself getting fuzzier inside. He doesn’t know if it’s the champagne or Jisoo’s presence. He’s pretty sure it’s the latter, and so he decides to keep drinking to take his nerves away. A waiter walks by and he takes another glass from his tray, putting the empty one in its place._

_Jisoo only continues to smile at him._

            Jeonghan wants to reach out and touch Jisoo’s back, slide his hand along and down it like he’d done after they left the party, when they were deciding which way to go—north to the well-off businessman’s flat, or east to the gallerist’s penthouse apartment.

 

_A man who looks like he probably makes his money selling B-grade bonds to unsuspecting customers at his firm walks by and bumps Jisoo’s shoulder, knocking him sideways a little._

_Jisoo regains his balance and lifts his eyebrows, still smiling at Jeonghan. “Well, then. I suppose he was in a hurry.”_

_“That was incredibly rude,” Jeonghan says, frowning over at the man’s back. “He didn’t even apologize.”_

_“It is getting crowded in here,” Jisoo says evenly, pulling Jeonghan’s gaze back to him._

_Jeonghan shifts on his feet. “It is, isn’t it.”_

_“Too much for my liking. My gallery has a maximum occupation limit of fifty people at once. So that people can enjoy the artwork that’s been put in front of them without having to worry about other people around them.” Jisoo’s eyes drag down Jeonghan’s body as he speaks, and then lift back to his face again._

_Jeonghan’s on his third glass by that point, Jisoo on his second, and Jeonghan knows if there’s ever going to be a time to suggest leaving, it’s now._

_“You’re right,” he says. “It’s busy in here. I’d like a little more space. Care to join me?”_

_Jisoo smiles again and nods, taking a final sip of his champagne and saying, “I’d be happy to.”_

_They return their glasses to the front table as they walk out of the hall, not bothering to give anyone a glance goodbye._

_The alcohol has definitely helped Jeonghan. The nerves he felt gazing back into Jisoo’s chocolate eyes have turned into sparkling embers instead. They pass the threshold of the doorway to the party and it’s as if it were a sound barrier. It’s very quiet out in the hallways of the hotel at this hour, and nobody is around. They begin down the corridors leading out to the parking lot._

_“Wow,” Jisoo says. “It’s so quiet. You never really notice how loud a place is until you leave it. I wonder if we were shouting at each other.”_

_“I don’t think you needed to shout for me to hear you,” Jeonghan says, looking forward. He can feel Jisoo turn sideways and smile at him again. Good. It’s what he wanted._

_They round a corner that leads into a velvet-carpeted hallway, cool tiles on one wall and landscape windows on the other, looking out to the city lights. Jeonghan knows that the windows are tinted black from the outside, so nobody could see them, even if there were someone out there. But there isn’t._

_“Just as well,” Jisoo replies. “Shouting is an ugly form of—”_

_Jeonghan puts his hands on Jisoo’s hips and pushes him gently against the tiles and leans in close. “Communication,” he says, and presses his lips firmly against Jisoo’s. It’s slow, soft, essentially close-mouthed. Then Jeonghan slips his tongue into Jisoo’s mouth and it becomes wet and deep and heavy._

_But after a moment, Jisoo grips Jeonghan’s sides and turns them around and pushes Jeonghan not so gently against the tiles instead. He puts his body up against Jeonghan’s and spreads his legs a little so Jeonghan can’t move. It’s all right. Jeonghan hasn’t even thought of moving. Jisoo hooks his thumbs into Jeonghan’s belt and pulls at his hips, pressing them against his own._

_Jeonghan makes a noise and Jisoo stops it with his mouth. Jisoo’s kiss is ravenous—hot and messy. He pulls at Jeonghan’s lip with his teeth and he presses his hips against Jeonghan’s and Jeonghan struggles not to squirm._

_Jisoo’s mouth moves down to Jeonghan’s jaw and then his neck. Jeonghan closes his eyes, lips parted and swollen, and leans his head back against the tile and breathes. “Where are we going?” he asks._

_Jisoo’s fingers play across his hips and Jeonghan shudders as Jisoo says, warm against his neck, “Yours.”_

_“Okay,” Jeonghan breathes out, and Jisoo leaves a gentle bite on the tender skin over his pulse. Then Jisoo comes back up and the kiss starts again and Jeonghan puts his arms around Jisoo’s back, slipping his hand along and down it, underneath his jacket, as Jisoo slides his tongue heavily over his._

Jisoo moves again, his legs this time, and the sheets pull further down away from his body, exposing his lower back just where it starts to curve. Jeonghan bites his lip, controlling himself, making sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. All he knows right now is that he wants Jisoo to stay. He doesn’t want Jisoo to leave after their one-night stand. But if it was only going to be once, then why is Jisoo still here with him?

            Jeonghan wants Jisoo to wake up and roll over and kiss him softly, as if they’ve been together for years. He knows that’s probably not going to happen. He’s probably going to have to be content with what he received and gave last night. Not that it wasn’t everything he could have asked for.

 

_Jeonghan knows as he unlocks the door to his flat that they probably annoyed the cab driver on the way back here. But it couldn’t be the first time a cabbie had two men making out in the backseat for five miles of light evening traffic. They payed him well anyway._

_Jeonghan opens the door and holds it for Jisoo, who thanks him and steps through. Jeonghan follows, and locks it again right away._

_He turns around and puts his keys on the table by the door and Jisoo is already taking off his jacket, letting it drop off his body._

_“It’s a beautiful flat,” Jisoo says as he pulls off his tie. It goes to the floor by his feet with his jacket that probably cost twice as much as Jeonghan’s. “I like your decorating style.”_

_“Thank you,” Jeonghan says, watching._

_Jisoo smiles at him and starts to unbutton his shirt._

_Jeonghan can’t say anything. He’s just standing there waiting to see the richly-colored skin he’s been wanting to lay eyes on the whole evening. Jisoo finishes with the buttons and slips the shirt off his shoulders. It dangles at his hips until he tugs it out of his waistband and drops it. Jisoo stops and lets Jeonghan stare._

_Jisoo’s skin, Jisoo’s body, Jisoo’s calm face—it’s all stunning. Jeonghan thinks himself fairly skinny but Jisoo’s body adds a level of fitness Jeonghan doesn’t have. For some reason, he can’t look away._

_“Will I be the only one naked for this?” Jisoo asks, chuckling, as he goes for the buckle of his belt and starts walking towards the hallway to find the bedroom._

_Jeonghan watches him go for a moment, seeing Jisoo let the belt fall with a_ chink _to the floor. Jisoo turns around and backpedals for a few steps, grinning and putting his arms out to say_ What are you doing? Come here already. _Jeonghan stutter steps and finally as he starts to move he takes his jacket off and drops it behind him, flicking off the light in the living room as he follows into the bedroom._

            Jeonghan feels himself starting to get hard. He frowns and pushes it away. He doesn’t want Jisoo to wake up with him like that. It’d be embarrassing and kind of gross. He tucks his legs up and tries to stop, but he can’t help but think about what went on under these very sheets not eight hours ago.

 

_They fuck once and have sex twice, two hours between each. The first time—the quick, hard, dirty, loud time—it’s Jeonghan on his back with Jisoo on his knees, Jeonghan’s legs hooked over Jisoo’s arms and his hips lifted up off the mattress. The angle is insane, and every time Jisoo thrusts into him it sends lightning through his bones. Jeonghan cries out when he comes, and it gets everywhere—the sheets and his chest and even some on his jaw, which he makes a noise at and whips his head to the side, sending his hair flying, as if he could avoid it happening. Jisoo pushes into him a few more times and then he comes too, spilling thick into the condom Jeonghan gave him, the packet of which now lies on the floor to the left side of the bed. Then Jisoo puts Jeonghan’s legs down and gets down on his hands and knees and uses his mouth to clean Jeonghan’s skin, starting at his chest and trailing upwards with his tongue, kissing at Jeonghan’s jaw to get the last little bit. Jeonghan breathes heavily as Jisoo’s lips roam his body, and then Jisoo lays down beside him and pulls the condom off his length—also not quite what Jeonghan had been expecting when Jisoo first took his pants off, and that time he felt a different kind of shame but Jisoo made sure to make Jeonghan feel good about himself. Jeonghan knows that if he tried to take Jisoo in his mouth like Jisoo had done to him before he fucked him, he would have at least choked a little. Jisoo didn’t. Jisoo took everything and didn’t even flinch. When Jisoo rolls off the condom, Jeonghan tells him where the bathroom is. Jisoo says with no hint of embarrassment that he’ll clean up even though they’re just going to do it again in a bit. Jeonghan blushes hard as Jisoo gets up and goes to the bathroom._

_The second time—after they spent their two hours staring at the ceiling, Jeonghan listening intently to Jisoo talk about modernist artwork and the pricks he has to deal with nearly every day at work—it’s slower. They get under the sheets and this time Jeonghan puts on the condom, dropping the foil to the right side of the bed, as Jisoo lies in wait. Jisoo’s nails scratch lightly down Jeonghan’s back and his sides while Jeonghan pushes into him. The soft moans that come out of Jisoo’s mouth send tingles across Jeonghan’s skin. Jisoo’s thighs tighten on Jeonghan’s hips when Jeonghan brings his hand between their bodies and wraps it around Jisoo, stroking gently. When Jisoo comes, he presses his face into Jeonghan’s neck and gives a long breathy moan, and Jeonghan’s heart thumps wildly in his chest. Not from exertion—this was easy and slow and wonderful—but from some feeling that’s trying to worm its way into his heart and brain. He’s still trying to identify it when he comes and it blocks everything out except the pleasure of Jisoo warm around him. He moans too, and before he squeezes his eyes shut he thinks he sees Jisoo staring into his face, smiling softly._

_This time Jeonghan talks for most of the two hours. He tells Jisoo about his family when he was younger, about his seven years in university at Seoul National—which Jisoo congratulates him for. He tells Jisoo how he’d cried when his Masters thesis was rejected on his first try, and he feels Jisoo’s fingertips touch his side. He tells Jisoo how elated he was when he spent three months perfecting his paper, revisiting all his research and rereading every page four times, and they’d taken it and told him what a good job he’d done. He tells Jisoo about how he’d cried again when he’d gotten his graduate degree, and he says with a blush that he framed it and hung it in his office down the hall. He hopes Jisoo will say let’s go look, but Jisoo doesn’t. He just congratulates Jeonghan again and says that he never could have done what he did—that he burned out after a Bachelor’s in fine arts and a minor in management, and moved here from LA because he wanted to leave America and didn’t know where else he could possibly go where he could have any chance of having a career with the education he had. Jeonghan starts to ask how Jisoo managed to become the owner of his gallery when Jisoo sits up against the headboard and tells Jeonghan to get on top of him._

_And so for the third time, Jeonghan puts the condom on Jisoo and drops the foil to his right. Jeonghan rides Jisoo while Jisoo holds onto his hips and squeezes his thighs. Jeonghan puts his hands against Jisoo’s smooth chest and moves his body up and down, letting his head tilt back and his hair fall down. He feels himself sink all the way onto Jisoo and watches Jisoo’s eyes flutter closed and his lips part. Jisoo takes Jeonghan in his hand and they come nearly at the same time. Jeonghan clenches as he starts to ride out their highs but Jisoo pulls him forward and kisses him hard. Jeonghan is surprised but pleased and when his lips meet Jisoo’s, Jisoo squeezes him, and Jeonghan moans out into his mouth, trying not to be too loud, making Jisoo smile against his lips. Jisoo holds Jeonghan’s back and Jeonghan puts one of his hands up on the headboard and kisses Jisoo firmly as they finish together._

_Jeonghan pulls off of Jisoo and sits back on Jisoo’s thighs, looking into Jisoo’s face and catching his breath. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what. Jisoo just smiles at him and says he’s tired. Jeonghan nods and climbs off him, asks if he wants the bathroom first, offers a shower. Jisoo accepts both, and goes into the bathroom for ten minutes, comes back naked with combed wet hair and stands next to the bed while Jeonghan looks up at him. Jisoo says he really is very tired. Jeonghan says he believes him, so is he. Jeonghan doesn’t offer what he knows Jisoo wants him to offer. Jeonghan wants Jisoo to make the decision on his own. Eventually, Jisoo does, and he climbs back under the covers and lies down next to Jeonghan. He doesn’t say anything else, but he tilts his head sideways to look at Jeonghan and gives him another smile before he rolls onto his stomach and turns his face away from Jeonghan, bringing his arms up by his head. He appears to fall asleep very quickly, and doesn’t move the rest of the night._

_Jeonghan lies awake for a time he can’t calculate. He makes an effort not to look over at Jisoo in his bed. A few times he’s unable to keep himself from doing it, but after another while his eyelids start to droop, so he tucks the covers up to his chin, and he falls asleep._

            Jeonghan sighs. He puts his hands on his stomach and crosses his fingers together so he won’t let his hands roam around the sheets. But he doesn’t have to wait very long. All at once Jisoo draws in a deep breath and the muscles in his back move as he pushes up off his chest onto his elbows and rubs his face. And then he turns to face Jeonghan and lies on his side. He blinks once, looks sleepy but rested. Jeonghan works very hard not to look down between Jisoo’s legs—the sheets have pulled down even more and expose Jisoo just slightly.

            But then Jeonghan finds that it isn’t difficult at all to look at Jisoo’s face. His skin is still just as golden and his dark eyes are lidded. He doesn’t have that puffiness that most normal people get from sleep, save for his hair, which is an appealing sort of mess. For some reason Jeonghan likes that Jisoo is vain enough about himself to style it so well for work or an evening banquet.

            And then Jisoo smiles at him—that same sweet smile.

            “Good morning,” Jeonghan says softly.

            “Good morning. It’s late. I’ve slept far too long.”

            Jeonghan feels panic in his chest suddenly. “Have you?”

            “Mhm.”

            “It’s the weekend,” Jeonghan says. “You shouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

            “I do own the second biggest art gallery this side of the city, even if it’s closed on the weekends.”

            Jeonghan blushes. “Well…no need to brag.”

            Jisoo smiles again. “I didn’t mean to. I’m just saying that I really do have things.”

            “Things,” Jeonghan says. Briefly he wonders if Jisoo already has a partner. But then he’s sure Jisoo wouldn’t be the kind of person to cheat. He doesn’t know why, but he’s sure.

            “Mhm.”

            Jeonghan nods. “So…you want to go?”

            Jisoo doesn’t answer for a minute. He blinks over at Jeonghan again and says, “I have a business to run…” But he says it like he’s not very convinced of it himself this morning.

            So Jeonghan prods into it. “Yeah? Do you?”

            “I do.” Jisoo props up on his elbow, leans his pretty cheekbone in his palm.

            Jeonghan holds back a smile. “Oh.”

            Jisoo is about to say something else but Jeonghan leans over and kisses him chastely. He pulls back an inch, waits to see what Jisoo will do. This will answer the one question on his mind.

            Jisoo does nothing for what feels like a long time, but then he leans back toward Jeonghan and kisses him again. They lie down, scoot closer to each other. Jeonghan takes Jisoo’s face in his hand and Jisoo wraps his arm over Jeonghan’s hip. They kiss, long and slow, bathed in the white light of eleven o’clock, for a while.

            Eventually, Jisoo pulls his lips away, but leaves his forehead pressed to Jeonghan’s. He says, “I really should get home. I have a lot of work to do.”

            Jeonghan raises his eyebrows. “I thought you said you just stare at art.”

            Jisoo laughs a little. “It’s hard work. But really. I have papers to fill out, people to call.”

            “Don’t,” Jeonghan says. “Don’t go. Stay here.”

            Jisoo pauses. “Here with you,” he says, and it’s not a question.

            Jeonghan nods. “I have work too but there’s nothing else I want to do today but be right here with you. Just…stay with me. For the weekend. Or even just…just give me one more night with you. You must want to.”

            Jisoo smiles. “Why do you say that?”

            Jeonghan answers immediately. “Because you’re still here. You didn’t go home last night. You could have said your goodbyes or even not said anything and left and carried on with your life without ever seeing me again but you didn’t. You’re still here with me.”

            Jisoo thinks about that for a moment. He shifts in the bed, splays his fingers out over Jeonghan’s lower back. “Maybe I was just _really_ tired.”

            Jeonghan can tell Jisoo has already agreed in his mind to stay by the way Jisoo is smiling at him and joking with him. He’s so relieved. So happy. “Maybe. But it was a one-night stand until I woke up here next to you. So it’s your fault it’s more. Your problem you have to stay with me now.”

            “God,” Jisoo says, and groans. “I can’t believe it. You’re right. All my fault. This is the worst fate I could possibly have.”

            Jeonghan grins and giggles. “So you’ll stay? Until the week starts again?”

            “Two more days,” Jisoo says. “Today and tomorrow. Then I really have to go. The gallery opens again and I need to be there.”

            Jeonghan’s grin widens and he kisses Jisoo’s nose. “Am I pushing my luck?”

            This time Jisoo answers immediately. “Absolutely.”

            Jeonghan laughs. “Good.”

            Jisoo kisses him again, and pulls his body close to press up against his own.

            Jeonghan doesn’t know whether the end of the weekend means the end of this thing. But he does know that he expected to wake up with Jisoo gone, and Jisoo wasn’t. So maybe if he expects Jisoo to forget him after Monday morning, Jisoo won’t. Maybe. He’ll have to see how the rest of the weekend goes. Maybe he’ll hate the way Jisoo eats or maybe he’ll find out that Jisoo doesn’t listen to music very much. Maybe something will happen that’ll make it easier on Jeonghan when Jisoo leaves him in two days. But then, maybe Jisoo won’t leave him. Jisoo might go, but maybe he won’t leave. At this point, Jeonghan has no idea. He doesn’t plan on thinking about it for two days. All he wants for that time is what’s already right in front of him, after a loud crowded banquet and three glasses of champagne and a kiss in the hall and a short ride north and an incredible long night that went by way too fast.

            Jeonghan thinks in his head without saying it aloud: _Don’t you go._

            And inside his own head—he fancies that maybe Jisoo heard him as he presses his lips to Jisoo’s—he hears the answer: _I won’t._


	2. Oh, Calamity!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of a night with Junhui, Wonwoo gets a call from his ex.

Junhui gets up to put his clothes back on. He gives Wonwoo a look, asking for what he was promised.

            Wonwoo is about to reach for his pants on the floor when he hears his phone buzzing. “Just give me one second?” he says.

            Junhui nods and picks his shirt up from the ground, turns around to put it on.

            Wonwoo gets his phone from the table and looks at it. Jesus. It’s him. Why is he calling? “This might be a minute,” he says, looking over at Junhui’s bare ass just before he wiggles his underwear on.

            Junhui looks over his shoulder and nods at him: _It’s fine. Go on._

            Wonwoo looks back at his phone, swallows hard, and answers. “Hey.”

            “Hi, Wonwoo,” Mingyu says. “I—”

            “How are you?”

            A pause. “I’m fine. You?”

            “All right. How’s Minghao?”

            “He’s good. Sleeping.”

            Wonwoo imagines the gorgeous tan-skinned contact-blue-eyed criminal attorney next to Mingyu in bed. “It’s late.”

            “It is. Listen, I called to let you know all the papers are through. We don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

            Lovely. Now they’re officially, one hundred percent divorced. “That’s good.”

            “Thank you for signing everything.”

            “Sure.”

            Another pause. “You taking care of yourself?”

            Wonwoo almost scoffs, but holds it back. “Yeah. I’m doing well enough.”

            “Everything good at the office?”

            “I’m actually not working right now.”

            Pause. “Why not?”

            Wonwoo rubs a palm over his cheek and leans forward, elbow on his knee. He tries not to let his voice shake. “You know why.”

            Junhui is dressed. He hears the way Wonwoo’s voice has changed. He looks at him, catches his eye. Wonwoo shrugs at him: _Eh._ Junhui tilts his head, blinking beautiful big eyes: _You sure?_ Wonwoo shakes his head. Junhui climbs back onto the bed and sits next to him, hoping he doesn’t seem like he’s intruding on Wonwoo’s privacy. Wonwoo gazes at him for a moment, then gives him a little fake smile.

            “Still?” Mingyu asks.

            “Of course. Forever,” Wonwoo answers.

            “Wonwoo…”

            “How could I not?” _I can’t do what you did so easily. I can’t just fall in love with someone else in a snap. I can’t just leave the life we had together because I want “change” and “stability.” Those are exactly opposite, don’t you see? Can’t you see me?_

            “I don’t know, Wonwoo.”

            “Neither do I.”

            Mingyu sighs. “You need to be happy. You need to forget…”

            “Forget what? The Maldives?”

 

_They spent two weeks on a tiny private island in the Maldives, two years ago. They’d swam in the brilliant blue water, boated in to visit the mainland and the jungles, eaten the most incredible and bizarre food they’d ever laid eyes on, and yet still spent most of their time in their little temporary house with each other. The number of times they had to change the sheets was countless. It was the first real trip they’d ever taken together and the start of many more._

 

            “No, Wonwoo. I’m saying—”

            “Switzerland?”

 

_One week, this time. Castles, libraries, cathedrals, monuments, the Jet d’Eau in Geneva, the boardwalk on Lake Lucerne, three of the nearly forty museums in the City of Art, the cobbled lanes and little shops of Bern. A daylong course in a chocolatier’s private kitchen learning how to heat and temper and mold and infuse and dip and mostly eat the most delicious chocolate in the world. Mingyu had said plenty of times that Swiss chocolate was to die for, especially after he had spent hours past midnight licking it off Wonwoo’s skin in the dark._

            “Do you remember that?” Wonwoo continues.

            Mingyu sighs again. “Of course I do. Switzerland was beautiful.”

            “You haven’t forgotten. How could I? How could I ever?”

            “You—”

            Wonwoo interrupts him again. “Napa?”

 

_Their one trip to America. Wonwoo had said over and over again that he wanted to do “the thing where they squish the grapes with their feet in the big bucket”. And one day Mingyu had come home and surprised him with tickets to California and told him they were leaving the next day. He wouldn’t make love to Wonwoo that night—he said he wanted to wait. And they’d flown to Napa and they’d gone straight into the hills to do the thing Wonwoo always wanted to do. Wonwoo complained through his laughter the whole time. Their toes were stained purple as they curled under that night when Mingyu said it was time._

            Wonwoo’s one trip in America, anyway. Now Mingyu is there again, back on the West Coast, maybe for life.

            “Yes, Wonwoo. I remember.”

            “Is it not a fond memory?”

            “Of course it is.”

            “And what about Spain?”

 

_Three nights on a mountaintop at one of Spain’s largest observatories. The stars were innumerable, sparkling, awe-inspiring. Wonwoo stared up at them for an indefinite amount of time until Mingyu said how pretty his eyes were with the reflection of the constellations in them. Wonwoo turned to him and they’d kissed under the velvet blanket dotted with diamonds. Three nights in a row._

            Mingyu’s voice is quicker, lower. “I remember Wonwoo. Of course I remember. It was perfect. All of it.”

            “Then what made you leave?”

            “Wonwoo. It’s been four months.”

            “What reasons did you have?”

            Mingyu sighs again. “I told you I wanted stability. Someone—a life where I could have a good steady job and—”

            “Someone else who knew what they were doing? Someone better than me?”

            “Stop it, Wonwoo. You can’t be angry.”

            “I can’t be angry? Mingyu, you’ve given me every—”

            Junhui’s hand is on his arm. Wonwoo cuts off and looks at him. His pretty brown eyes look softly into Wonwoo’s and say _Don’t. You don’t need to._ Wonwoo swallows again and nods.

            “Mingyu…I’m not angry. I’m just…confused.”

            “I understand. But, Wonwoo, we had our fun. It was great. I loved you. But…what we were…that’s just not me anymore. Going all those places and…that’s not me.”

            _Where we’ve been is who we are._ “It is.”

            “It’s not.”

            “Okay.”

            “It’s not that I fell out of…”

            Wonwoo waits for him to continue. He knows Mingyu was about to lie. “It is, though. That’s why.”

            “Okay. Maybe a little bit but you shouldn’t take that so personally. I thought that in you was everything I wanted but…Jesus. Wonwoo. Don’t make me say this.”

            “You were everything _I_ wanted.”

            “I…I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t…feel that.”

            “Me too.”

            This time Junhui’s hand is on his back, rubbing a little. Wonwoo has a second to think that maybe Junhui can hear all of what Mingyu is saying too. Maybe Junhui feels bad for him. Or maybe Junhui just understands. It’s nice of him to comfort him. That’s not his job, but he’s doing it anyway.      

            Mingyu says, “Listen…I should go. I just…wanted to let you know about the papers.”

            “Okay. Thank you.”

            “Please, Wonwoo. Take care of yourself.”

            “I still love you.”

            “I know. It’s time to let it go.”

            “I can’t.”

            “I know. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

            _Come back to me_. “All right.”

            “Goodnight, Wonwoo.”

            “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

            Wonwoo keeps the phone to his ear for a while, and it seems Mingyu does too, because the call doesn’t end for another few seconds. But then Mingyu hangs up, and Wonwoo lets his hands go to his lap.

            “Is everything okay?” Junhui asks.

            Wonwoo shrugs. “Not really. But yes.”

            Junhui nods. “I’m sorry.”

            Wonwoo looks at him and gives him a terrible, sorry smile. “Me too.” They look at each other for a second before Wonwoo blinks and says, “Oh. I forgot. Sorry. Let me just—” He goes to reach for his pants again.

            Junhui puts a hand on his thigh. “No. It’s fine. You don’t need to pay me.”

            Wonwoo turns back to him. “Are you sure? I really should.”

            “No. Don’t. I couldn’t.”

            “I…all right. Thank you, then. If you won’t let me pay you.”

            “Give me a hug instead.”

            Wonwoo blushes. Junhui has his arms out and Wonwoo leans into them. Junhui rubs his back and holds him tightly. Wonwoo draws in a deep breath and presses his face into Junhui’s shoulder. And then Junhui kisses his cheek and pulls away.

            “Thanks,” Wonwoo says, but it’s barely a whisper.

            Junhui smiles at him. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

            Wonwoo shakes his head. “No. Thank you.”

            “Mhm. And um…can I see that?” Junhui nods down at Wonwoo’s phone in his hands.

            “Oh—uh…I guess.” He gives it to Junhui.

            Junhui taps around for a while, then hands it back. “Here’s my number. _My_ number—not the service. If you ever want to talk.” He shrugs.

            Wonwoo’s mouth is open a little. He can’t really think of anything to say. But he’s happy. Junhui is…really nice. Has been the whole time he’s been here. Maybe that’s what Wonwoo needs right now. Someone nice. Someone to talk to. “All right.”

            “And I promise—I won’t make you pay me the next time or the time after that or ever.”

            Wonwoo blushes hard. “I, uh…I don’t…”

            Junhui just smiles and kisses his cheek again. “Give me a call or a text or whatever you prefer. I’ll answer. I’m free Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Sundays. And random times otherwise, but you know.”

            “I’m free always.”

            Junhui grins. “Good. Then you better call.”

            Wonwoo is still red but he smiles. “I will. Thank you, Junhui. Is it Friday? Today?”

            “Today is Monday,” Junhui says with a sideways smile on.

            Wonwoo raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. “Jesus. I’m out of it.”

            “You know what? Don’t even call me. Meet me at…do you know the coffee shop just around the corner? Out the building and then left and down two blocks?”

            Wonwoo nods, trying to keep from widening his eyes too much. What’s happening? He asked for an escort and now he’s getting a friend and a therapist and maybe something else too. “I know it. The one that’s not Starbucks.”

            Junhui giggles. It sends tingles up Wonwoo’s spine for the first time in a long time. “Yeah. That one. Lunch? Noon?”

            Wonwoo puts a hand to his head briefly, trying to comprehend what just happened—this is the first time he’s been asked out on a date since he met Mingyu. The four months of them not being together after three years of marriage have consisted of loneliness and intermittent eating and horror films because they were the only ones he didn’t cry at and an escort once a week. A thought comes to mind: “Is Junhui your real name?”

            Junhui laughs again. “Yes. I think the fake name thing is kind of…” he tilts his head side to side, “low-class, if you get what I mean.”

            Wonwoo smiles and it feels really nice. “Yeah. I get it. Okay.”

            “But you can call me Jun, if you’d like.”

            Wonwoo blushes again. “Just Jun?”

            Junhui hums a yes. “Just Jun. So can you meet me at twelve or what?”

            Wonwoo blinks and nods rapidly. “Yes. Yes I can.”

            Junhui smiles and nods back. “We’ll work it out, okay?”

            Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “Work what out?”

            Junhui doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he leans over and kisses Wonwoo’s cheek one more time, a little closer to his lips, before he gets up and goes to the door. “See? You’re already halfway there.”


	3. The Reckless and the Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an old church with a backpack and a syringe, Minghao contemplates leaving.

Minghao sits alone in the pew frontmost in the old empty Methodist church, looking up at the stained glass image of James and John, the two brothers. Then his eyes fall to the statuette of Jesus on the podium where the reverend stands during sermon. He speaks out loud but can barely be heard amongst the empty walls: "I'll never be saved."  
            He stares up at the glass again, his unkempt bangs falling in his hollow eyes, and absentmindedly scratches his arm, up by the crook of his elbow. It's itched for two years straight now. It'll stop soon.  
            This was Mingyu's church. That's why he comes here every once in a while. He doesn't know why he tortures himself, but it's not like it'll go away if he stays away. So he comes. Because of the picture high up on the wall in blues and greens and golds. The two brothers.  
            Before Minghao's arm started to itch by his own accord—before Minghao ever even laid eyes on a dirty gram of Mexican skag—he and Mingyu were riding the high road. Funny to think of it like that now. These days Minghao rides a different high road.  
            He and Mingyu lived in a bubble—a precious little world of perfect grades and top ten of their freshman class in university and no drugs or alcohol or very late nights or problems save for which page numbers they needed to read by Wednesday and which batteries belonged in the graphing calculator.  
            Mingyu was always better than him though. If Minghao was top ten then Mingyu was top five. If Minghao wrote a ten page paper, Mingyu wrote twelve. If Minghao was happy, Mingyu was radiant. Brilliant, handsome, kind, going nowhere but up. And he wanted Minghao along with him every step of the way.  
            And then Mingyu made an accidental wrong turn in the maze they were running together, and the scientists hit the shock button. The last thing Mingyu saw before he died was the headlights of the car driving in the wrong lane as he rounded the curve, shining through the soft snowfall of the first signs of Anyang winter.  
            Minghao wonders what Mingyu was thinking at that time. What song was playing on the radio. If Mingyu was feeling happy. If Mingyu was thinking about school or the future or what to have for dinner or maybe even him.  
            Mingyu used to say all the time, when they were feeling stressed or tired, overworked and rundown, that what they were doing in all their academics was harder and crazier and dumber than any soldier or any schizophrenic or any druggie. _Long live the reckless and the brave_. That was his tagline, his mantra. Maybe that's what Mingyu was thinking as the headlights came impossibly closer to him in the dark.  
            After that night, a precious life turned vicious. Minghao didn't attend Mingyu's funeral three days later. He didn't want to see what was left of his best friend, whether it was a mutilated body or ashes or a cherrywood box. He couldn't stand it. He tried to go back to class, but Mingyu was everywhere he looked—in the bricks along the path they walked every day, in the trees where they sat for lunch Tuesdays and Thursdays, in the empty seat next to him in the classroom, behind his eyelids every time he blinked. Minghao stopped attending school, Minghao stopped going out, Minghao stopped sleeping, Minghao stopped eating. Minghao lost twenty pounds in two months.

            And then one day he went bravely to the back end of campus because that was the place where Mingyu first hugged him. Minghao wasn't sure if he was in love with Mingyu, but he was sure that Mingyu was straight. But he sat on the bench anyway, wrapped tight in a sweater that Mingyu had left at his house once when they were studying together. His body wasn't able to keep him warm anymore, but Mingyu's black sweater could. He'd sat for more than an hour, breathing, half expecting Mingyu to walk around the corner and tell him it was all just a prank, he was okay and back for Minghao and the perfect life they were supposed to have as business partners and, as Minghao had always hoped, something more. But the person that walked around the corner was not Kim Mingyu, but someone who called himself Wonwoo.  
            Minghao knew nothing about Wonwoo except for the fact that the powder that Wonwoo pulled out of his backpack looked like dirt and felt like broken heaven when he melted it and stuck it in his arm, up by the crook of his elbow. The ugly brown powder made him forget about what had happened. So he used, and little by little he continued to waste away.  
            Minghao still knows nothing about Wonwoo except for his price per gram. Wonwoo supplied him for half a year, and then Minghao moved up to cleaner skag from the guy above Wonwoo. Now he keeps a bag with him all the time, and if he can carry a backpack, he keeps a spoon and a lighter and a syringe. He has his backpack today.  
            He scratches his arm again. It all started with that crash, that first bit of powder that was offered him, brown and weak and that left a bad taste in his mouth from his bloodstream. He has far better than that today. He spent seventy thousand won on the half gram he has today, but it doesn't matter that his money is gone. What he has in his back pocket is whiter, cleaner, far more powerful than any street China. What he has today is ninety-five percent pure. Even the small amount he has in his little green bag will shut his heart down in less than a minute. But he'll be seeing a lot better than James and John and Jesus for that time.  
            Minghao looks at the stained glass and he thinks that maybe he'll see Mingyu soon. If what anyone's told him is true then he'll be going in exactly the opposite direction Mingyu went, but at this point he isn’t really aware enough to think about it too much. He just wants to take a breath, say goodbye, go into the chemical flood to his head and his heart and be gone.  
            It's as good a time as any.  
            Minghao pushes his hair out of his eyes and his sleeve falls down off his too-thin wrist. He goes into his backpack and he pulls out everything he needs: the lighter, the spoon, the syringe, and this time a yellow cord. It's been getting harder to find his veins but with the cord it should be easy. If it was that easy for Mingyu to be taken out of the world then Minghao thinks he deserves that too, as punishment.  
            He wraps the cord around his left arm, pulling with his teeth. He waits until he starts to feel his weak heartbeat in his fingertips and can see his macerated veins through his sickly skin. Then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out he bag. He does his best to control the shake in his fingers as he taps the powder into the spoon and holds it up. He lets the bag float to the floor of the church and he picks up his lighter and melts the heroin. He drops his lighter and gets the syringe—uncapped, already used. He dips it into the liquid and draws it in.  
            His hands tremble and he holds the syringe to the bluest of his veins. He looks one more time up at the brothers in the glass. He speaks again, and it's even softer than before, but it slips through the smile on his lips anyway: "Long live the reckless and the brave."  
            He pushes the tip of the needle through his skin as he's shoved from behind and crumples to the floor.  
            The syringe slips from his arm and slides away. Minghao finds himself on his back, cord around his arm, nowhere near the high he was expecting. Not high at all. Nothing went into him. He didn't even get the chance to push the plunger.  
            He looks sideways at the syringe and has a second to think that maybe Mingyu's spirit pushed him down or maybe it was Jesus or God or the Devil. But then the heel of Junhui’s shoe comes down and shatters the syringe. Junhui kicks away the remains of the plastic and heroin and turns back around and drops to his knees. He pulls the cord off Minghao's arm and inspects the place on his elbow where all the puncture marks are.  
            "Did any go in? _Minghao_. Answer me right now."  
            Minghao opens his mouth and only a squeak comes out. He blinks rapidly a few times and shakes his head once.  
            Junhui sighs audibly. "Oh thank god. Minghao. Minghao, don't cry."  
            Minghao didn't know he was. He feels Junhui's palms hold on to his face and wipe the tears away with his thumbs. Junhui leans over him and stares into his eyes. His fading brown hair is lit up from above by the light coming through the stained glass, and it creates a colorful halo. Minghao thinks how pretty it is and all at once he forgets what the picture on the stained glass is in the first place. Junhui's face blocks it out from his field of vision. All Minghao can see through his watery eyes is the blurry circle of Junhui's face surrounded by hazy colors, like an impossible moon in the midst of a star nebula.  
            "You were going to do it, weren't you?" Junhui says quietly, touching Minghao's face softly.  
            Minghao blinks again and lets his eyes clear. Junhui stares down at him. Minghao says, "I miss him."  
            Junhui nods. "I know. I know you do. You're going to be okay."  
            Minghao looks up at his roommate and his boyfriend, the person who found him passed out in the city three months ago and who took care of him and who listened while Minghao confessed everything—who he once was and what happened that made him who he is now. Junhui knows Minghao uses, Junhui knows why Minghao uses, Junhui knows Minghao will never get over Mingyu. But Junhui also knows Minghao is still capable of both love and happiness. Minghao doesn't know it. But Junhui will do—has been doing and continues to do—everything in his power to help him learn.  
            "You're going to be okay," Junhui says again.  
            Minghao breathes in and it rattles in his chest. He's still sick, very sick. But not as sick as he was three months ago.  
            He says, "Junhui."  
            Junhui wraps his hands under Minghao's shoulders and pulls him to sitting. Minghao slumps forward and Junhui catches him. "Okay. Minghao." He kisses the side of Minghao's head. "Let's go home. You're done now. It's over. Let's go home."  
            Minghao presses his face into Junhui's shoulder.  
            Junhui rubs Minghao's back, feels Minghao's spine under his hands through the black sweater Minghao wears nearly every day unless Junhui is hand washing it for him. "I'll sing you that song you like. Will you listen to me? I like when I have someone to listen to my songs. Will you?"  
            Minghao nods. "Yes."  
            Junhui kisses his head again. "Good. That's good, Minghao. I'll sing any song you want. Let's go home."  
            Junhui starts to stand up but Minghao wraps his arms around Junhui's back and squeezes. In Minghao's head, it's probably the tightest hug he's ever given, but to Junhui it's incredibly weak, as if all Minghao is doing is placing his arms on him.  
            Junhui asks, "Is it done, Minghao?"  
            Minghao doesn't answer.  
            "Minghao. Tell me if it's over."  
            Minghao leans back just a little and turns his face up to look at Junhui. "It's over."  
            Junhui stares right into his eyes. "He wouldn't want it to keep going. And neither do I. Your song's been sung, Minghao. It's time to keep going now. Keep living. Are you sure it's over?"  
            Minghao feels his lips tremble and he takes another wheezing breath. "It's over. I promise. For you."  
            Junhui shakes his head. "For both of us."  
            In a brief moment of clarity, Minghao understands that "us" doesn't include him. He nods, and can't say anything more.  
            "All right," Junhui says. "Let's go home."  
            Junhui gets to his feet and reaches his hands down. Minghao takes them and Junhui pulls him up. He wraps an arm around Minghao's waist and gives him a smile and Minghao leans his head on his shoulder.  
            The two walk out, heading into the crisp air of the start of Anyang summer, leaving the backpack and everything once in it behind to be watched over by the brothers in the glass.


	4. Backseat Serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hansol finds Seungkwan crying in his car and wants to help him feel better.

Hansol ended up leaving the classroom thirty minutes late. He’d given up the idea of making dinner when he got home—these night graduate courses were ridiculously late, and he often stayed after to work in the room anyway because it was essentially silent compared to his city apartment. He didn’t know why he didn’t just live in grad housing on the campus. Yonsei was a beautiful school. Maybe he’d move soon. Maybe he’d just get take-out on the way home.

            He folded up his laptop and put it in his backpack, slung it over his shoulder. He hit the lights on the way out. Come to think of it, he was almost always the last one to leave; the professor had told him to get the lights a few weeks back when he’d started staying after, and it had just stuck. Maybe he’d get the key to the room soon, too. He went outside, letting the door swing quietly closed behind him.

            It was dark—darker than it should have been, despite the time. There should have been a sliver of moonlight at least. He looked up—no moon, no stars. Clouds. Cool. He started out across campus toward the commuter lot.

            He saw the names on the bricks of the memorial walk as he passed by. People who had given to the university, people who had graduated and stayed, passing on their knowledge, until they died. Smart, successful people. Lately, Hansol had started to worry that he might not end up being the kind of person who got their name on a brick to be stepped on by Yonsei population. Or any, for that matter. Hansol wanted to do well—he was good at physics and he really liked it, but the work was getting really difficult. He’d gotten his undergrad—thank god—but now his graduate work was slipping. He knew some of the other kids were doing way better than he was. Some had already submitted their theses; he’d barely even cracked into his. Sometimes he felt like a total loser—like he just couldn’t do anything right, despite his above average grades and his late-night work sessions. He felt inadequate. He supposed, though, that there were worse ways to feel, worse positions to be in than not-top-of-the-class at Yonsei University. Whatever. He’d have to just get past it. Try to remind himself every day that someone else had it worse.

            He made it to the parking lot in the dark. Well, dark except for one spot of light the next row down, in a four-door black Kia. Hansol pitied the Kia’s battery, and pulled out his keys from his pocket. But then he noticed movement. Someone was in the Kia. Someone with a familiar head of reddish brown hair. Someone wiping his eyes.

            Seungkwan was in Hansol’s class. He always left right when it ended. At first, Hansol had taken him for one of those kids whose parents got them in with money and who didn’t really care at all. But then their professor had had the students peer review each other’s work one day, and Hansol had been in a group with Seungkwan. He’d learned that Seungkwan was actually incredibly smart—too brilliant for his own good—and that he left early every day to get straight to work in the library. At the time, he’d said he had almost finished his thesis. They hadn’t really spoken since, but Seungkwan was one of the people who made Hansol insecure about himself. Who made Hansol wish he could be like him. Hansol bet he’d finished that thesis weeks ago.

            But why was he crying?

            Hansol thought for a moment that maybe he should just let him be. Seungkwan was quiet, Seungkwan was a bit of a loner. Seungkwan probably didn’t want to talk to anyone. But…Hansol couldn’t just leave him there. Something tugged at him, and drew him to the Kia.

            He noticed as he got closer that Seungkwan was sitting in the backseat. Strange, but who was he to judge. He leaned over and knocked quietly on the window.

            Seungkwan jumped and looked over at him with red eyes. He frowned. It was muffled when he said, “Go away.”

            Hansol raised his voice to be heard through the window. “Are you okay?”

            “Go away, Hansol.”

            Hansol was surprised Seungkwan had remembered his name. But then, he had remembered Seungkwan’s. “Can I do anything to help? Need to talk?”

            Seungkwan rolled his eyes, looked forward, lowered his head. “Leave.”

            “Don’t be embarrassed. I just want to help.” Hansol knew he was being pushy. He didn’t like seeing people cry. He wanted to tell Seungkwan that he understood, whatever the problem was.

            “ _Hansol._ I swear _._ Just go.”

            “Seungkwan.”

            Seungkwan looked at him again. Hansol could see the pain on his face. And he could feel the rain starting to fall on his shoulders. He pointed up, keeping his eyes locked with Seungkwan’s. “It’s raining. You better let me in.”

            Seungkwan leaned forward and looked up out the window, and Hansol noticed how big his eyes were. Seungkwan’s face flattened as he looked back at Hansol. “Get in your own car, then.”

            Hansol shook his head. “It’s too far away.”

            “Literally it’s only—”

            “I’m melting, Seungkwan.”

            Seungkwan groaned and rolled his eyes and as he leaned forward to hit the unlock switch on the front door, Hansol went around to the other side of the car. He opened the back door and sat down next to Seungkwan, putting his backpack on the floor, brushing his hair into place. He shut the rain out and it was quiet. “Thank you.”

            Seungkwan threw him a look, then turned back and wiped his eyes again, composing himself.

            Hansol sighed. “Seungkwan, why are you in the backseat?”

            Seungkwan laughed humorlessly. “I thought maybe it would be less noticeable.”

            “Why didn’t you go home?”

            Seungkwan squinted at him. “Because it just happened, okay? I couldn’t keep it back any longer.”

            Hansol stared at his face, paler than his usual full color. Any longer? What did that mean? “Why were you crying?”

            Seungkwan sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I failed a test yesterday. In another class.”

            “Bad?”

            “I got a C.”

            Hansol made a face at him. “Come on. That’s not so bad. I’ve gotten Cs. That’s no big deal.”

            “My grandfather died. Two weeks ago.”

            Hansol felt himself sink into the seat a little more. “Oh.” What was he supposed to say? He realized he didn’t really know anything about Seungkwan at all. He did remember seeing Seungkwan miss two classes in a row two weeks ago. And now, Seungkwan looked sad, yes, but mostly he just looked exhausted. He looked like he needed that cry. “I’m sorry.”

            “And today, my thesis got rejected.”

            Hansol sighed and put his hands in his lap. “God. Seungkwan…I didn’t know. What…why didn’t they want it?”

            Seungkwan laughed again. It made Hansol feel queasy. “They said my understanding of space-time travel and time dilation was warped. Isn’t that funny? My whole freaking paper is about warps in the fabric, folds in the continuum.”

            “That’s…a really good topic. And in class—I swear you’re the smartest person there. Whenever you answer or ask a question I feel like I’ve never even been to school before, my brain is so empty compared to yours.”

            Seungkwan shook his head. “I’ve been doing research for nearly two years. Observatories on remote mountains and reading Einstein until two in the morning and gravitational experiments and math equations and documentaries. You know how many pieces of paper I’ve used and thrown away trying to get my information, my equations, my theories, correct? I thought I’d done it.”

            “I’m sorry,” Hansol said again. “That’s bullshit. They should have taken it. There’s no way you got it wrong. You—”

            “I know, all right? I know. Saying that won’t help.”

            Hansol bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

            “Me too.”

            Hansol put his hand out and said, “If it makes any difference, I’ve only got like ten pages of mine done.”

            Seungkwan only looked at him.

            Hansol tapped his fingers on his legs. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

            “Not really. Unless you want to tell me how I was wrong so I can fix it.”

            Hansol shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you left from right if you put the proof in front of me that it was the other way around.”

            Seungkwan sort of smiled. “Stop.”

            “I’m serious. I’m jealous of you, Seungkwan. You make me feel…inadequate. And I’ve only spoken to you once. Well, now more, but you know what I mean. I met you and suddenly I wasn’t smart anymore.”

            “You’re in SKY.”

            Hansol tilted his head side to side. “I know. But you’re _worthy_ of SKY, of Yonsei. I don’t know about me. I’m barely pulling Bs.”

            “It’s graduate school.”

            “You have a four-point-oh, right?”

            Seungkwan didn’t answer.

            Hansol nodded once. “Yeah. You’re smarter than me. And that’s awesome. I’m just jealous. Teach me your ways.”

            Seungkwan did smile, small. “Well, it’s basically all I do. I bet you have friends. I bet you go out sometimes and have drinks and have a stunning girlfriend and—”

            Hansol snorted laughter.

            “What?” Seungkwan asked.

            “No girlfriend here.”

            “No?”

            “I swing the other way.”

            Seungkwan’s eyes might have changed a bit. Hansol noticed it, and understood what it meant. He was really just glad Seungkwan’s mind was off the bad stuff. “Oh,” Seungkwan said. “Boyfriend, then.”

            Hansol shook his head.

            Seungkwan swallowed. “Well, still. You have free time.”

            Hansol shrugged. “I’ll never be as smart as you, even if I stopped going out to dinner and grabbing a beer with a friend or whatever it is. You win.”

            Seungkwan’s mouth curled down at the corners. “Believe me, I don’t win.”

            Hansol looked at his hands. He cleared his throat. “Listen…I’m sorry about all the bad shit. Fuck the C, resubmit the paper and blow their minds, and remember that everybody dies.”

            Seungkwan raised an eyebrow.

            Hansol put a hand up, mouth agape. “Okay…wait. That’s not—wow. I’m an ass. That sounded terrible. I’m so sorry.”

            Seungkwan smiled sideways. “It’s all right. We weren’t very close. I missed school to go to the funeral on Jeju. It really dragged.”

            Hansol couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Hey, um…let me know if you ever need anything, okay? Talk to me anytime. And I’d be happy to help with that paper except that all I’d do is fuck it up. Although, apparently faulty information is what they’re looking for if they think what you gave them is wrong.”

            Seungkwan smiled and shook his head. “All right.”

            “And you should come with me for a drink some time.” His brow furrowed. “Did that sound like I just asked you out?” Maybe he did.

            Seungkwan looked forward again, but Hansol saw that he was trying to hold back even more of a smile. “Go on, Hansol. It’s late.”

            “Okay.” He wanted to hug Seungkwan. He wasn’t sure if that would be okay. He—

            “Hansol?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Just…thanks for not going away.”

            Hansol looked into his eyes while Seungkwan looked down. He really did want to hug Seungkwan. All of a sudden, he wanted more than to hug Seungkwan. He liked that he made Seungkwan feel okay. Maybe…

            Hansol began to crawl forward into the front seat.

            “Yah. Your ass is in my face,” Seungkwan said.

            Hansol laughed. “Sorry.”

            “What are you doing?”

            Hansol pulled his legs forward and settled into the driver’s seat, glad to see the keys were in the ignition. “Where do you live?”

            “You’re not driving me anywhere.”

            “Why not? Where do you live?”

            “Because this is my car and yours is over there and I barely know you.”

            Hansol turned around and looked at him. “Are you feeling better?”

            Seungkwan paused. He looked away. “A little. I…thanks for talking to me.”

            Hansol nodded. He faced forward again and turned the engine on. “I bet I can make you feel even better than a little.”

            He met Seungkwan’s eyes in the rearview mirror. They were wide and dilated dark and surprised and no longer teary in the slightest. Hansol gave him a little smile.

            Seungkwan said, very softly, “Graduate housing, east third street.”

            Hansol put the car in reverse, backed out, and went to where Seungkwan had said.

 

Seungkwan had climbed into the passenger seat while Hansol was driving the near-empty campus. He pointed out the window. “There. White one.”

            Hansol pulled up to a little white house, plain and very grad-student-looking. He shut the car off. “I’m surprised you didn’t change your mind.”

            Seungkwan looked out the window. “I did. Three times.”

            Hansol handed Seungkwan his keys. “Final verdict?”

            “Take your shoes off just inside the door,” Seungkwan said, and he stepped out of the car.

            Hansol grinned and followed, running through the rain.

            Their shoes were off, and Seungkwan was locking the door behind them. Hansol immediately took Seungkwan by the waist and pushed him up against the wall. He came close and put his face in Seungkwan’s neck, nipping and kissing and sucking gently. He pushed his hips against Seungkwan’s and Seungkwan let out a soft sound, tilting his head up. Hansol snaked a hand between them and palmed Seungkwan through his jeans, feeling Seungkwan’s hips push forward into his touch. Hansol kissed up to Seungkwan’s jaw and then over to his mouth. Seungkwan pushed him away.

            “Stop.”

            Hansol stood there two feet away, staring at him. “What—I thought…”

            “I do. But…not my mouth, okay? We’re not…that’s too…” He sighed. “I don’t want it to seem like that if it’s not like that. But this also isn’t some drunk fuck. This needs to be a deliberate thing. Not necessarily calculated but…I don’t want this to go by in some flash of—” he waved his hands around, “—whatever. Okay? This isn’t that. If you mean this, then…don’t just get off by using me.”

            Hansol nodded seriously. “Of course. I understand. I do want to kiss you, but I understand.”

            Seungkwan went red. “Don’t, all right?”

            “I won’t. I’ll respect that.” He stepped back toward Seungkwan and held his hips again. “Everywhere else is fair game?”

            Seungkwan sighed shakily. “I suppose.”

            Hansol kissed his jaw a few times. “Good. Then we’ll need a bed. Which way?”

            Seungkwan looked into his eyes and said, “Follow me.”

            He led them to the bedroom, and he started to pull his clothes off. He got his pants undone when Hansol said, “Can I?”

            Seungkwan paused. “I…you want to?”

            “Deliberately. Yes.”

            “Okay.”

            “Can you get up on the bed?”

            Seungkwan blinked at him. “Sure.” He climbed up, laid back when Hansol told him to do that too.

            Hansol climbed up and knelt over him. He started to pull Seungkwan’s pants and underwear off as he asked, “Who’s topping?”

            Seungkwan flushed again. “Jesus.”

            “He’s unavailable.”

            “Hansol.”

            “I’m just being deliberate.”

            “Are you making fun of me?”

            Hansol dropped Seungkwan’s pants to the floor and looked into his face. “No. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to do anything wrong.”

            Seungkwan sighed. “It’s sex, Hansol. It’s not complicated.”

            Hansol smiled and rolled his eyes. “Now who’s being snarky?”

            “You,” Seungkwan said.

            “I beg to—”

            “You’re topping.”

            Hansol raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Okay.” He reached down and pulled off Seungkwan’s shirt. He looked at Seungkwan’s naked body. “You have nice skin.”

            Seungkwan made a face. “Thanks.”

            “You do.”

            “Stop being awkward.”

            “I’m not!”

            “Stop saying random things.”

            “They’re not random. They’re the truth. Deliberate truth.”

            “I swear to god.”

            Hansol giggled. “Sorry.” He took his own clothes off. “I just like the word you used. You’re right, this isn’t just a—”

            “You’re supposed to be helping me forget.”

            Seungkwan stared seriously up at him. Hansol’s lips were parted slightly and he was just kneeling over Seungkwan’s legs and he didn’t know what to say. _I’m sorry_ was the first thing that came to mind, but he’d already said that about thirty times tonight. He decided on a whispered, “Okay.”

            He leaned down and started to kiss Seungkwan’s body. He kissed along Seungkwan’s collarbones and down his chest, leaving light pecks on his ribs and his nipples and his solar plexus. He held onto Seungkwan’s body, listened to Seungkwan’s breathing, as he made his way down to Seungkwan’s belly button and back up to his neck.

            “Hansol.”

            “Mm?” He looked up from Seungkwan’s skin.

            Seungkwan reached sideways and pulled open the drawer in his table. Hansol reached over and got a condom—he actually had to open the box because it was untouched—and the bottle of lube. He was silent as he put the condom on and slicked himself. He paused for a moment, then got a little more lube and put it on his fingers. He put the bottle back and shoved the drawer closed with the back of his hand.

            “Seungkwan, I—”

            “Can we not talk?”

            Hansol nodded. He leaned forward, planted his left hand in the sheets next to Seungkwan's body, and brought his fingers between Seungkwan’s legs. Seungkwan looked at him and nodded, and Hansol slipped his first finger in. Seungkwan drew in a slow breath; Hansol watched his chest move with it. Hansol pushed and pulled a few times before he added a second. Seungkwan made a little noise in the back of his throat—barely audible—and Hansol slowed down a little bit. Obviously Seungkwan wasn’t used to this. Hansol was surprised, and maybe even a little flattered, that Seungkwan wanted him to top. Hansol moved his fingers slower, and when Seungkwan looked more comfortable he scissored them outward. Seungkwan shifted his hips, but he didn’t look in pain.

            “Another,” Seungkwan said.

            Hansol was going to ask if he was sure, but he wasn’t supposed to talk. So he carefully slipped his ring finger in with the others, and Seungkwan’s back arched a little. Hansol hoped he wasn’t hurting Seungkwan, but he was pretty sure Seungkwan would say something if he was—Seungkwan was that kind of person. So he pushed and pulled all the way until Seungkwan said, “Okay, Hansol.”

            Hansol nodded. He wiped his hand on the sheets and he positioned between Seungkwan’s thighs. He held himself up on his elbows and he pushed slowly in. Seungkwan hummed; Hansol liked it. He pulled back and thrust again, and Seungkwan’s hands finally touched Hansol’s body. They slid up his back and onto his shoulders and stayed there, holding on. Hansol kept pushing, gentle and deep, and at one point Seungkwan jolted underneath him.

            “You all right?”

            “ _Hansol_.”

            The way Seungkwan breathed his name and the way Seungkwan’s arms tightened around him sent static throughout Hansol’s body. He hummed into Seungkwan’s neck and kissed him warmly, wishing he could taste his tongue.

            All at once, Seungkwan rolled them over. Hansol let his legs straighten out and he looked up into Seungkwan’s face, wide-eyed. Seungkwan was on his knees, flushed, and his bangs hung down over his forehead as he stared softly into Hansol’s eyes. And then he started to move himself, pushing backward onto Hansol. Hansol tilted his chin up and moaned, gripping Seungkwan’s waist in his hands. He bent his knees up and planted his feet on the bed, and he pushed his hips up opposite to Seungkwan’s rocking.

            “ _Ah_. Seungkwan. You…oh god.”

            “Shhh.”

            Hansol groaned, wishing he could say something. Anything. But moaning wasn’t talking, so he did that instead. He gripped Seungkwan’s skin and moved his hips and Seungkwan pushed himself back onto him. Seungkwan made a whine once, and Hansol opened his eyes to find Seungkwan’s face contorted above him. And while he was still looking, Hansol wrapped his hand around Seungkwan and drew it up and down a few times, and Seungkwan spilled onto his stomach and rocked back a little harder. Hansol pushed up his hips, hoping to give Seungkwan whatever he could, and Seungkwan released a few short moans. Then Seungkwan was sighing, breathing heavily, and looking into Hansol’s eyes again. Seungkwan said, inaudible: “Come.”

            Hansol tugged Seungkwan’s body down and turned them back over. He rolled his hips gently, feeling Seungkwan’s come dripping down his chest, and he moaned again, long and low, when he came inside the condom. He put a wet kiss on Seungkwan’s cheek and pushed out his final few thrusts.

            He stopped, pulled out, took off the condom, threw it away, and lay next to Seungkwan on his back, wondering what exactly just happened, why it was almost as if he already couldn’t remember anything about it but the way Seungkwan looked at him.

            “Seungkwan.”

            “The bathroom is just down the hall.”

            Hansol sat up and looked down into Seungkwan’s face. Was this it? He didn’t want this to be it. “Seungkwan. Do you…want me to go?”

            “The bathroom, Hansol.”

            Hansol sighed and got up. He went slowly to the bathroom and cleaned off. He came back to the bedroom, and without asking or waiting for Seungkwan to say goodbye he flopped back down next to him, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankles. He looked sideways at Seungkwan. Seungkwan’s brow was furrowed and he looked…not mad, but like he was thinking deeply. Hansol wasn’t sure what to say, again. He waited at least a minute for Seungkwan to say something, but he didn’t. So he said, “I’m sorry for saying sorry so much today.”

            “Illogical,” Seungkwan replied.

            “I know. I’m…” he smiled, “sorry.”

            Seungkwan glanced sideways at him. “Have you heard the argument about self-driving cars?”

            Hansol blinked at him. “No.”

            “Your car is driving you along, and you’re about to go under a tunnel. But right as you’re approaching, a child stumbles and falls into the middle of the road. The car is designed not to kill humans. Does the car continue along, running the child over and saving your life, or does it swerve and crash against the tunnel wall, saving the child’s life but killing you?”

            Hansol was silent. He wasn’t sure why Seungkwan was saying this. Maybe Seungkwan was making a metaphor. He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t know why Seungkwan troubled himself with it. Seungkwan really was too brilliant for his own good.

            “It’s interesting,” Seungkwan said.

            Hansol said, “You know…don’t take offense to this, but when I first saw you in class, I thought you were one of those kids with the rich parents, you know? That’s how easy you made everything look—like you weren’t even trying.”

            Seungkwan half smiled. It wasn’t pretty. “No. It’s not me who doesn’t care.”

            Hansol tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

            A line appeared between Seungkwan’s eyebrows. He didn’t answer.

            “Seungkwan?”

            “I’m thinking.”

            “About what?”

            “If I should tell you about myself or not.”

            Hansol faced him. “Why wouldn’t you?”

            “Because I don’t know if _you_ care.”

            “That’s what you meant? I do.”

            “No, that’s not…” He sighed. He shook his head. “Can I trust you?”

            Hansol didn’t hesitate. “You can.”

            Seungkwan frowned. “I don’t believe you, but okay.”

            Hansol turned fully on his side and propped up on his elbow, resting his chin in his hand, listening intently, already knowing he’d never tell a single soul whatever it was he was about to hear.

            Seungkwan licked his lips. “I meant that it’s my parents that don’t care. As if they would ever pay for me to go here… No. I’m on scholarship. And I work early mornings.”

            “What do you do?”

            Seungkwan looked sideways at him. “I code.”

            “Like…computer stuff?”

            Seungkwan nodded.

            “What do you make?”

            Seungkwan’s lips twitched. “Children’s educational software. I…this is going to sound really lame.”

            “I think it’s great. Tell me.”

            Seungkwan sighed. “There’s a program we’re working on—teach kids astronomy. Basic level stuff. Anyway…I code the night sky. I map the constellations and…yeah.”

            Hansol shook his head in disbelief. “What the fuck.”

            Seungkwan frowned, looked away again. “What?”

            “That’s fucking amazing.”

            Seungkwan tilted his head back to the side to meet Hansol’s eyes again. “Sure.”

            “I’m serious. I can’t do anything like that. And that’s just your thing you do for a little extra money, _on top_ of school? I mean…wow, Seungkwan. You can do everything— _too_ well. Physics, theory, tech, sex. Anything.”

            Seungkwan blushed a little and shifted. “You’re the only one who knows what I do. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

            “I won’t. But you should.”

            “Mm.”

            “Tell me about your parents.”

            Seungkwan sighed again and stared up at the ceiling. “Not exactly much to tell. I love them to death and they don’t give two shits about me. About who I am or what I do. They don’t—”

            Seungkwan’s face twisted and it looked like he was going to cry again. Hansol sat up a little to lean a bit more over him. “Seungkwan. It’s okay.”

            “It’s not. I’ve been on my own fresh out of high school, and even then they were never around. I know it’s because they’re always working and it’s not that they hate me but—I’ve been taking care of myself for years and years, Hansol. Nearly half my life. And that’s fine—I can do it. I’m doing well enough, aren’t I?”

            “You’re doing incredibly.”

            Seungkwan sniffed and shook his head hard, but some tears fell anyway. He scoffed at himself.

            “It’s…Seungkwan, I understand.”

            “No you don’t.”

            Hansol sighed. No. He didn’t. His mom and dad had always been there—still were—and they and his sister supported every last decision he made. If he had decided that instead of getting a graduate degree in physics he wanted to do something ridiculous like become a rapper and leave home, then they would have been just as fine with that. So no, he didn’t understand Seungkwan’s situation at all. But what he did finally understand was that thing he’d been trying to tell himself all this time—someone always had it worse. He felt ashamed for feeling sorry for himself over a bit of insecurity. “Seungkwan…”

            “Hansol, I—” His breath hitched in his chest. He swallowed. “I’m so sick. I’m so sick of driving and working and eating and sleeping alone. I wish…” He closed his eyes and stopped talking.

            “Wish what, Seungkwan?”

            Seungkwan whispered, trying to calm himself down. “That I…wasn’t alone. It’s painful and pathetic.”

            Hansol had no idea what to do. Tears were still dripping down Seungkwan’s cheeks, through his long eyelashes. He could see, on the blankness Seungkwan had put on his face, the pain he was talking about. The pain Hansol had seen when he first saw Seungkwan in his car. Hansol felt awful inside. All he wanted to do was help.

            He leaned down and he kissed both sides of Seungkwan’s face, over and over again, tasting the salt of his tears, trying to kiss the pain away and knowing he never could.

            “What are you doing?” Seungkwan mumbled.

            “I’m kissing you.” He kept doing it.

            “Stop.”

            “Okay.” He leaned back and looked at Seungkwan again.

            Seungkwan eyed him seriously and said, “Hansol, you have to tell me honestly right now if something’s going on because if it’s not then you have to go. I can’t handle that too.”

            Hansol took a deep breath and as he let it out he said, “Jesus, Seungkwan…I think it is.”

            Seungkwan’s eyes flicked back and forth between Hansol’s, and Hansol could tell that Seungkwan was trying to gauge how genuine what he had just said was. And the funny thing was, it was completely genuine. He really did think that there was something. Something for Seungkwan.

            Seungkwan eventually said, “Okay. Then you can stay.”

            Hansol smiled. “You did say you were sick of sleeping alone.”

            “Shut up.”

            Hansol lay back down and pulled himself closer to Seungkwan.

            There was silence until Seungkwan said, so softly, “You can keep going…if you want.”

            Hansol sighed and smiled, pushed back up a little, rested his hand on Seungkwan’s cheek, and kissed Seungkwan’s lips. Seungkwan didn’t push him away this time. Instead, he brought his hands up and pulled Hansol’s body to his own.

            The rain tapped gently on the window in the dark.


	5. Paint You Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seungcheol's not so great, and Jihoon knows it.
> 
> WARNING

Jihoon stirred a drop of blue into his mixture of paint, creating a navy that was so dark it could almost be called black. He put down his metal paint spatula and picked up a brush, dipping it into the paint and looking at the blank canvas.

            He had only a vague idea of what he wanted to put down. He knew _exactly_ what he wanted the picture to represent, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. But he knew this was the right color. At least that was a good start.

            He took a deep breath and was glad to smell the sharpness of his acrylics over the old dank smell of their tiny one bedroom apartment. The place was built sixty years ago and had never been renovated, save for a new carpet put in twenty years back. Their appliances only sometimes worked and the air smelled faintly of ozone always and the cracks in the walls seemed to creep just a little bit longer every day. But that was probably Jihoon making the worst of the situation. And he couldn’t really complain about the apartment either—it was all they could afford. Besides, the cracks in the walls were the least of his problems.

            He coughed, and his chest hurt. He put his brush to his canvas and started to paint.

            Half an hour later, the one door to the apartment was keyed open. Jihoon stiffened, put down his paintbrush in a cup of water, remained facing his canvas and held his hands obediently in front of him. He lowered his head.

            “Fuck, it’s been a long day,” Seungcheol said, shoving the door closed behind him with his boot. Jihoon heard him walk in and put down his keys. And he could feel Seungcheol face him and put his hands on his hips. “What are you doing?”

            “Painting,” Jihoon said.

            “Turn around.”

            Jihoon did. “How are you?”

            “Don’t you think you spend a little too much time on that?” Seungcheol said, waving his hand toward the canvas like a mess that needed to be cleaned. “Do you ever _sell_ any paintings?”

            Jihoon drew in a breath. “I do. Sometimes.”

            “Why don’t you get a real job? Contribute a little.”

            Jihoon nodded. “I’ll look. I’ll go out soon and ask around.”

            “Finally.”

            Jihoon swallowed, staring over at him. “How was your day?”

            Seungcheol shrugged and cracked his neck to one side. “Like I said, fucking long. Fixed four units today. You’d think I’d get paid better for this shit. Look at my hands.” He held them out for Jihoon to look at, for probably the hundredth time. It wasn’t rare that Seungcheol came home and complained.

            Jihoon nodded again, looking at the dirt in Seungcheol’s fingernails and the callouses on his knuckles. “I see. Nothing hurt, broken, achy?”

            Seungcheol shook his head. “No. But I can tell you what I could really use right now.”

            “I can make you anything we have,” Jihoon offered, but he was fairly sure that wasn’t what Seungcheol was talking about. And it wasn’t.

            Seungcheol stepped toward him and came close, hovering over him and looking down into his face. “Not what I meant.” Seungcheol’s hand inched forward and pressed between Jihoon’s legs.

            Jihoon turned his head sideways, making an effort not to squirm away. “I don’t really want to…”

            “No? Why not?”

            “I…don’t feel good.”

            Seungcheol leaned his head down and kissed Jihoon’s forehead. Jihoon flinched. “Come on. For me. I’ve had a bad day.”

            _Every day is a bad day,_ Jihoon thought. “Seungcheol…”

            Seungcheol’s hand came out from between Jihoon’s legs and gripped onto his arm instead. His voice changed—deepened and flattened. “Come on, Jihoon.”

            Jihoon took in another shaky breath. “Seungcheol, I don’t feel like—” Seungcheol’s grip tightened painfully on his arm, fingers digging into his muscles. Jihoon whimpered. “Seungcheol.”

            Seungcheol started to walk Jihoon over to the couch, pushing him by his arm and getting so close Jihoon had no choice but to step back. Jihoon’s legs hit the couch and he sat back onto it. Seungcheol leaned over him. “You know you want to, Jihoon.”

            Seungcheol’s grip remained on Jihoon’s arm, squeezing tight enough that Jihoon knew he was going to have bruises. He knew the amount of pain that would produce a bruise. This was not his first time experiencing this.

            “You want to,” Seungcheol said again. “I know because you wouldn’t get hard in your pants when I touch you if you didn’t want it.” Seungcheol’s left hand went back between Jihoon’s legs, squeezing roughly.

            And Jihoon was a little hard. The problem was that it was just a physiological response. And it wasn’t that he didn’t love Seungcheol. He did. He told himself that he did, and he loved the side of Seungcheol that sometimes came out when Seungcheol was having one of his rare good days. He did love Seungcheol. But he also hated him for what he did.

            Seungcheol squeezed again, both places, and Jihoon hissed in through his teeth. “Seungcheol. Can’t we just have dinner? I said I’ll make whatever you want. We might have—” Jihoon’s voice cut off when Seungcheol turned him sideways with a rough shove and pushed him onto his back on the couch. Seungcheol climbed over him.

            “I need it, Jihoon. I know you do too.”

            Jihoon understood there was no getting out of this. There wasn’t usually a way out. Seungcheol never really listened to him. And he knew there’d be consequences like the ones under his shirt if he didn’t do what Seungcheol wanted. He looked up into Seungcheol’s face and sighed out, and it trembled. “Okay. You’re right. You’re right, Seungcheol. I want it. Do it. I want to make you happy.”

            Seungcheol smiled at him. “That’s it,” he said, and leaned down to plant hot kisses on Jihoon’s neck. He stripped Jihoon’s shirt off, revealing the yellowed bruises on his ribs from Seungcheol’s workboots last week. Seungcheol didn’t take any notice. Seungcheol didn’t care. He undid his pants and pulled them down to his knees, and he did the same to Jihoon’s.

            Jihoon kicked his and Seungcheol’s pants off to the floor and watched Seungcheol spit into his palm, and he pressed his lips together. The bottle of lube was in the bedroom and Seungcheol didn’t care enough to go get it. Fine. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, either. Seungcheol covered himself and lowered down, one knee on Jihoon’s side between the cushions and Jihoon’s leg, and the other off the couch, planted on the floor. And Seungcheol pushed into him all at once, and Jihoon tilted his chin up and gritted his teeth, not daring to complain about the pain because it would only bring more.

            Seungcheol pushed and pulled and eventually his precome made the pain dissipate mostly. Jihoon opened his legs a little wider, letting one go off the edge of the couch to join Seungcheol’s. Seungcheol was grunting into his neck, but then he lifted his head back up and gave Jihoon a kiss on the mouth. Jihoon returned it. “Seungcheol…” he said, and then moaned because he knew Seungcheol liked it.

            “You’re so good, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol breathed. “So good.”

            Jihoon felt heat on his skin and realized it was a blush. He brought his hands up and pushed his fingers through Seungcheol’s dirty hair and pulled down, kissing him again. Seungcheol kissed him back, slow and wet, and Jihoon twined his leg around Seungcheol’s. Seungcheol thrust again and again, making the old couch creak underneath their bodies. Jihoon slid his hands down Seungcheol’s back, played his fingers along his hips and just above his ass. Seungcheol groaned and spilled into Jihoon, thrusting erratically a few more times. Jihoon held onto him and let him ride out his high.

            Jihoon hadn’t come, but that was just how it was sometimes. He’d gotten used to it. Sometimes he could even predict when it was going to happen like that—he’d gotten to know Seungcheol’s timing fairly well and he’d gotten to the point where the ache between his legs went away very quickly. Sometimes he could even prevent it from happening at all. All he had to do was think about when Seungcheol called him useless or stupid, or when Seungcheol put his hands or his knuckles on him far too harshly. That definitely kept the ache away. Luckily he didn’t need to think about those things today. He did ache a little, but he was just glad Seungcheol had kissed him like that, told him he was good to him, and so he wasn’t upset about not coming this time.

            Seungcheol pulled out of him and got up on his knees, then leaned back onto the other arm of the couch across from Jihoon. “Could you do me a favor, babe?” he said, and nodded down between his legs.

            Jihoon nodded and sat up, leaned forward, cleaned Seungcheol off with his mouth.

            “Mm. If I hadn’t just come that would definitely make it happen,” Seungcheol said, petting Jihoon’s hair.

            Jihoon gazed up into Seungcheol’s dark eyes, let Seungcheol’s soft dick slip from his lips. “I’m glad I can make you happy.”

            Seungcheol put on the smile he always put on when he knew he’d gotten Jihoon on his side once again. “You do, baby. You do. Come here.”

            Jihoon smiled at him and crawled up and lay on top of him. Seungcheol wrapped his arm around Jihoon’s back and Jihoon laid his head on Seungcheol’s chest, brought his hand up under Seungcheol’s shirt to rest on his ribs, hugging him gently.

            Jihoon knew that what just happened wasn’t good. But it was good. Seungcheol did make him feel good—when Seungcheol held him and kissed him and complimented him and called him baby, it made him feel good. And if he could make Seungcheol happy, it was all the better. Jihoon didn’t like when Seungcheol wasn’t happy. Unhappy Seungcheol made him feel bad in lots of ways. That was the Seungcheol Jihoon hated. But that wasn’t the Seungcheol that was here now, so he supposed it was okay.

            “I love you, Seungcheol,” he said quietly.

            “I love you too, baby,” Seungcheol said, and reached down and gave Jihoon’s ass a little squeeze. Jihoon tugged himself closer to Seungcheol’s body and closed his eyes.

            Jihoon was not stupid. Jihoon knew exactly what was going on. Jihoon knew Seungcheol used him and abused him— _god_ did he know those things. But he still loved Seungcheol. Loved Seungcheol enough to give him this gift he was planning on giving him. The gift in the painting.

            “What are you painting this time?” Seungcheol asked, as if he’d read his mind.

            Jihoon opened his eyes, glanced over at the canvas. At this point there was only a shadow of a figure, shaped vaguely like a man—tall and thin and broad—but warped, uncanny. He still wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he was going to paint, but he knew what the gift for Seungcheol was. He needed to make sure that part of it was right. Because he loved Seungcheol. Seungcheol needed what Jihoon was going to give him.

            Jihoon smiled and closed his eyes again. “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

            Seungcheol said, “Well, I’m sure it’ll be as good as all your other ones.”

            “It will, Seungcheol.” He tilted his head up and looked into Seungcheol’s face. He kissed Seungcheol’s chin, then pushed up a little and kissed his mouth, sliding his tongue over Seungcheol’s. Seungcheol squeezed at the skin on his back and pulled him tight to his body. They kissed for a while, and then Jihoon pulled away again and lay back down, and stared over at the unfinished painting. “It will. Even better maybe. I love you.”

 

…

 

Yesterday had actually gone really well. Seungcheol had come home and had been smiling. When Jihoon asked what it was, worried that maybe Seungcheol had finally snapped, Seungcheol told him that he was getting a dollar fifty pay raise per hour. Jihoon had put down his paint (his figure was almost complete now, and then he had to do the background, and then he had to do the gift) and ran to Seungcheol and hugged him tight around his torso. He said how great that was, and Seungcheol kissed the top of his head. Jihoon looked up at him, chin just below his collarbones, and asked how he wanted to celebrate. Seungcheol had bent down and hooked his arms under him and picked him up and carried him, both of them laughing, into the bedroom. They actually made love, and it wasn’t painful, and Jihoon did come. Afterwards, Seungcheol held him for a while and then Jihoon made him dinner and brought it to him in bed. Jihoon offered to please him again, but for once Seungcheol said he only wanted to lay there with him and go to sleep—he was tired from working all day to earn that pay raise. The smile that spread over Jihoon’s face was big and true, and they’d kissed softly, gotten ready for bed, and laid back down, Seungcheol wrapping his arm over Jihoon’s side.

            Jihoon had woken up today in the same position, just with Seungcheol gone off to work and missing from behind him. And he was happy. He was excited to get back to the painting so he could finish faster and get Seungcheol this gift he had for him.

            He had been painting nearly all day, and Seungcheol would be home again soon. The figure’s body was complete—dark and shadowy, just how he wanted it. Ambiguous—though he knew what it meant. It had lines around it like the sounds of violins in a scary movie, portraying a forward motion of the figure, as if it were walking out of the canvas toward him. Jihoon had one final touch for the figure before he was to move on to the background.

            He cleaned his brush and got out his black paint. He squeezed just a little on his palette, not needing to mix it with his metal spatula this time, and picked up a new, smaller brush. He dipped it in the paint, and put two fuzzy, irregular circles in the middle of the figure’s head. The navy behind it was dark enough that it almost looked as if the black wasn’t even there—that the gaping sockets were never painted in the first place. But Jihoon knew. That was what mattered. He looked at it, smiling, and didn’t look at his cup of water as he went to clean the new brush. And he ended up knocking the dirty, deep blue water off the stool he used as a table and onto the carpet.

            He could only stare down at it for a moment, appalled. He thought instantly about how he was never going to be able to get the dark stain from the tan carpeting in time. That would take a deep cleaning, and he probably had…he glanced up at the clock. He licked his lips. No time. No time at all. Seungcheol should be home right about now.

            Jihoon very carefully put everything in his hands down onto the stool. And then he rushed into the kitchen, falling to his knees and looking under the sink to see what kind of cleaner they might have around. And of course, Seungcheol arrived home.

            Jihoon froze, listening to the door shut.

            “Hey, Jihoon? I was wondering if…”

            Jihoon shifted on his knees, letting go of the sides of the cabinet and closing the doors softly. He knew how to resign himself. He did it now.

            From the living room: “What the _fuck_?”

            Jihoon rose to his feet. He went quietly out to the living room.

            Seungcheol was standing over by the spill. He put his hand out. “What the fuck is this?”

            “I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

            Seungcheol brought his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed harshly. “Do you know what this’ll cost to get cleaned? We have a deposit on this place, Jihoon. God, you’re so fucking stupid sometimes.”

            Jihoon’s chest shrunk, squeezing down onto his lungs and his heart. “I’m sorry. I promise—I’ll clean it myself.”

            “The fuck you will.”

            “I will. I promise.”

            Seungcheol turned to him, going red in the face. “Jihoon, if you don’t shut the fuck up. Christ. I’m so fucking done.”

            Jihoon had nothing to say. He knew Seungcheol was probably going to start breaking things now, as if that would help the situation. He just didn’t know what was going to be broken.

            Seungcheol seethed. “You and your fucking paint. So sick of—” he kicked the cup the water had been in and it knocked against the wall, “—all of this crap.” He shoved the stool over, getting Jihoon’s tools and paint all over the carpet, too. He reached for the canvas.

            “ _No!_ ” Jihoon shouted, putting an arm up.

            Seungcheol paused with his hands up and looked at him. “No? No what? Are you telling me what to do now?”

            Jihoon trembled. “No, Seungcheol. I’m not. But please don’t hurt the painting.”

            “Fuck you,” Seungcheol said, and took it in his hands anyway.

            Jihoon _needed_ that painting. If he was going to give Seungcheol his gift, the painting was the only way he could do it. That painting was everything to him now. He needed it. So he did the only thing he knew that could absolutely get Seungcheol away from that canvas.

            He swallowed and said, “Fuck _you._ ”

            Seungcheol stopped. He had the painting in his hands as he turned fully to face Jihoon. “What did you say?”

            Jihoon took a deep breath and it still shook. “I said…”

            “I know what you fucking said.” Seungcheol threw the painting behind him and Jihoon watched as it skidded, face up, safely out of harm’s way. Jihoon sighed in relief. And then his eyes flicked back over to Seungcheol, who was already coming toward him.

            “Seungcheol, wait. I didn’t mean it.”

            “You fucking said it.”

            “Seungcheol, I swear. I didn’t mean—”

            The back of Seungcheol’s hand connected with Jihoon’s cheek in a slap. Jihoon bent sideways and put his hand up to his face. “Seungcheol, _please_.”

            “What the _fuck_ —” Seungcheol shoved Jihoon hard and he hit the wall, “—is wrong with you. You think you can talk to me like that?”

            “No, I—” He cried out when Seungcheol hit him again.

            “I pay every fucking bill around here. You don’t do shit. You’re fucking trash. I don’t know why I take care of you when you do nothing for me. This is _your_ fucking mess.” He hit Jihoon again.

            Jihoon closed his eyes and tried not to moan because he knew Seungcheol didn’t like it. He started to slide down the wall but Seungcheol hauled him up by the same spot on his arm from two days ago, where fingertip-shaped bruises had formed around his bicep.

            “Seungcheol…” Jihoon said, his head leaning sideways in pain. Seungcheol put his fist in his torso. Jihoon’s body tried to double forward but Seungcheol wouldn’t let it. Jihoon wheezed. “S…Seungcheol. Please. I’m really sorry. It was…” Seungcheol’s grip went even tighter than before on his arm. Jihoon writhed and said, “Seungcheol, you’re hurting me.”

            “Didn’t notice.”

            “Seungcheol, please. It was an accident. I’ll—”

            Both his voice and his breath were cut off when Seungcheol took his hand away from his arm and brought it around his neck instead. Jihoon tilted his chin up, trying to breathe. Seungcheol’s thumb and forefinger pressed against his arteries, cutting off blood supply. Jihoon could feel his head getting heavier. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt tears run down his cheeks. He tried to say Seungcheol’s name but of course nothing came out.

            “You must get sick of yourself, too.”

            Jihoon heard Seungcheol speaking but it was as if he were underwater. Under syrup.

            “I know _I_ do. You’re such garbage, Jihoon. Really. I don’t know why I waste my time on you.”

            Jihoon brought his hands up and grabbed weakly at Seungcheol’s wrist.

            “I’m so fucking tired of you. Why don’t you make things easier on me and just kill y…”

            Jihoon couldn’t hear anything anymore. His vision was starting to fade out. His hands groped around and found Seungcheol’s face. He held gently onto Seungcheol’s cheeks, brushing Seungcheol’s hair back with his fingertips, as he waited to pass out.

            But all at once he could breathe again. He drew in a breath of explosive pain and found himself on the ground, legs having given out from underneath him. He coughed, retched but didn’t vomit, pushed himself up onto his hands, then fell back down and rolled over onto his back. He opened his eyes and looked up, trying to get his vision to focus. When it did, he saw Seungcheol standing there, one hand up to his face, fingertips touching the place where Jihoon’s had been.

            Seungcheol looked down at him and said, “Jihoon. Jihoon, I’m so sorry.”

            Jihoon couldn’t speak. His lungs wouldn’t let him—they felt like fire. He went to put his hand out to Seungcheol but could only lift it half a foot off the carpet.

            But Seungcheol still understood. He got down on his heels and took Jihoon’s hand in his. “God. Jihoon. Baby. I’m so sorry. What did I do?”

            Jihoon coughed again. He started to roll toward Seungcheol and Seungcheol wrapped his arms underneath him, picked him up, carried him limp over to the couch and sat down with him lying in his lap. He held Jihoon as if he were a child, close to his chest, arms wrapped around his back. He started kissing Jihoon all over his face, down onto his neck where there would be yet more bruises tomorrow.

            “Baby, are you okay?”

            Jihoon took in a breath and it wasn’t as painful as before. “Seungcheol…”

            Seungcheol looked into his face and kissed him on the mouth. “Jihoon, I’m sorry.” He kissed him again and then pulled him even closer.

            Jihoon’s head rested on Seungcheol’s shoulder. He blinked a few times and saw his painting in the corner, unscathed. That was all he needed. For Seungcheol. He started to speak but he coughed again instead. Seungcheol rubbed his back. Jihoon swallowed hard and said, “I forgive you. Th…thank you. Thank you for not hurting my painting.”

            Seungcheol sighed and held him too tight, but Jihoon didn’t complain. “Of course. Of course, baby. I love you.”

            Jihoon pulled back and put his arms around Seungcheol’s neck. Seungcheol kissed him again, too hard, too much tongue. Jihoon kissed him back.

            Seungcheol stopped and said, “I said I love you, Jihoon.”

            Jihoon’s voice was scratchy. It hurt when he said, “I love you too, Seungcheol.”

            Seungcheol kissed him once more and then looked around the room. “It’s disgusting in here. Paint everywhere.”

            Jihoon knew he’d have a night of cleaning ahead of him, but it was okay because his painting was okay. “I know,” he said, kissing Seungcheol’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

            “You’ll clean up your mess?”

            Jihoon nodded, even though most of the mess wasn’t his. “Mhm. It’s okay.” He glanced at his painting, only wanting to put it back up on his easel and finish it so he could give Seungcheol his gift. He nodded again. “I’ll fix it. Really soon, Seungcheol. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

 

…

 

Three more days passed.

            Jihoon finished the background in two of those days, coming close to suffering a broken wrist during the night between them when he’d woken Seungcheol up when he went to the bathroom. The third day, while Seungcheol was out at work, he finished the gift. He ended up finishing early—and he knew it was because this final thing was what his brain and his body had been waiting for. It was ready to make the gift. And so when the time came, it was the easiest thing Jihoon had ever done, despite how badly his wrist hurt when he held the brush up. And he was happy, because finishing early gave him time to let the painting dry. He wanted to cover it up before Seungcheol got home. He wanted it to be a big surprise. He hoped it would be. But first, he had to remind himself why he was giving Seungcheol the gift in the first place. That could only happen when Seungcheol returned from work.

            He got an old blanket and covered the canvas a few hours later. He left all his supplies on the stool and went to the kitchen. He had food ready and was sitting on the couch by the time Seungcheol opened the door.

            “Hi, Seungcheol,” he said, and went immediately to him, holding up the sandwich he’d made on a plate.

            Seungcheol looked at it and took it. “Great. I’m starving.”

            “I thought you might be. Come sit with me.” Jihoon smiled at him and tilted his head, calling Seungcheol over to the couch with him.

            Seungcheol put his keys down and brought the plate over and sat with Jihoon. Jihoon waited, hands on his knees, as Seungcheol ate. When Seungcheol was almost done, Jihoon leaned toward him and started to kiss his neck.

            Seungcheol chuckled, mouth full. “You must be in a good mood.”

            Jihoon hummed against his neck and nipped at Seungcheol’s skin. “I finished my painting today. It turned out just how I wanted.”

            Seungcheol swallowed his last bite and said, “Good for y—”

            He cut off when Jihoon stuck his hand in his pants and squeezed.

            Seungcheol chuckled again. “Must be a really good painting.”

            Jihoon nodded and continued to kiss Seungcheol’s neck, continued to rub at him. “It is. It’s perfect. Come on, Seungcheol. I want you in me. I want to make you feel good. Come on.” He knew Seungcheol wasn’t going to argue. He didn’t.

            Seungcheol picked Jihoon up again and carried him to the bed, threw him down on the covers. Jihoon put his arms up and beckoned Seungcheol to him. “Come here, Seungcheol. Quick. I have the surprise for you.”

            Seungcheol didn’t seem to hear what he said after _Come here_. He climbed up onto the bed and got over Jihoon and shoved his tongue into his mouth, tasting faintly of peanut butter. Jihoon grabbed Seungcheol’s back and pulled him down on top of him, shaking the bed. Jihoon pushed his hips up and grinded against Seungcheol. He pulled up on the hem of Seungcheol’s shirt and dug his nails into Seungcheol’s shoulders and did it again. He pulled his lips away and said, “Seungcheol. Come on.”

            “Shit, Jihoon.” Seungcheol grinded back, groaning.

            “Fuck me, Seungcheol. Please. I need you to feel good. I need you to hurry. Flip me over. Do it.”

            Seungcheol breathed hot against Jihoon’s neck and Jihoon bit his ear and tugged. Seungcheol got up on his knees and stripped them down. He gripped Jihoon’s sides and flipped him over. Jihoon raised his ass in the air, getting on his knees, and spread his legs open for Seungcheol to move between them.

            Seungcheol shook his head, reaching for the bottle of lube. “Christ, Jihoon. What’s gotten into you?”

            “No prep. Just fuck me, Seungcheol. Hurry.”

            “All right,” Seungcheol said, laughing darkly. “Calm down.”

            Jihoon whined for Seungcheol. “ _Please_.”

            “Fuck.” Seungcheol slicked himself and then wiped his hand on Jihoon’s ass, squeezing. He grabbed Jihoon’s hips and positioned behind Jihoon’s ass and thrust in, groaning again. “Fuck, baby.”

            Jihoon arched his back and tilted his head up. He let out ridiculous moans and whines, telling Seungcheol to go harder and telling him how incredible he was. Seungcheol’s thrusts created a burning friction inside him, but he wasn’t focused in the slightest on coming. He wasn’t even hard. All he wanted was for Seungcheol to feel good so he could give Seungcheol his gift. Yes, this was why. This and the bruises and the blood and the words. They were why.

            “God, Jihoon. Oh, fuck. You’re so— _fuck_.” Seungcheol came after less than a minute, pushing hard into Jihoon, and Jihoon moaned load over and over, shouting Seungcheol’s name. Seungcheol groaned one final time and collapsed onto Jihoon’s back, pushing him down to the bed.

            Jihoon smiled and held Seungcheol’s hands in his, up by his head. Eventually, Seungcheol rolled off and lay next to him. Jihoon pushed up onto his side and put a hand on Seungcheol’s chest, tapping his fingers lightly over Seungcheol’s skin.

            Finally, Seungcheol chuckled and said, “Damn, Jihoon. Were you lonely?”

            “I have something to show you.” He leaned down and kissed Seungcheol’s chest.

            “Yeah?”

            “Mhm.” He kissed him again and then looked into his face. “Remember? I finished my painting. See it when you walked in? I covered it so you wouldn’t see until we were done. It was a surprise.”

            Seungcheol blinked at him. “Okay.”

            “Can I show you?”

            Seungcheol shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

            Jihoon grinned huge at him. He kissed him quickly and then pulled him to his feet. “Come on.”

            “You can’t bring it over?"

            “No, Seungcheol. It’s for you. I have your gift.” Jihoon tugged on Seungcheol’s arm.

            “Gift?” Seungcheol said.

            “Mhm.” Jihoon bit his lip and looked oddly into Seungcheol’s face. Jihoon’s eyes seemed to sparkle.

            “All right, then.”

            Jihoon giggled. Seungcheol rolled his eyes and Jihoon led them, naked, out to the living room where his easel stood covered with the old blanket.

            Jihoon tiptoed over to it and put his hands on the cloth. “Ready?”

            Seungcheol put his hands on his bare hips. “As I’ll ever be. Hurry up. I want to sleep.”

            Jihoon giggled again. He pulled the cloth off the easel and showed Seungcheol his painting.

            The figure was still as dark, still as monstrous and scary. The background was faded grey, upon which Jihoon had painted little cracks everywhere. It looked oddly similar to the walls that surrounded them now. Besides these things, the only other part of the picture was the most amazing of it all. Jihoon had given the dark figure a pair of voluminous white angel’s wings. He’d shaded and feathered and used a bit of silver paint and made it appear as though the wings were three-dimensional; as if, were Seungcheol to touch them, he would feel soft down under his fingertips instead of hard canvas.

            Seungcheol nodded. “That’s pretty good, Jihoon.”

            Jihoon had his hands behind his back, had put them there when Seungcheol was looking at the painting. He was still smiling. “Yeah? You like it?”

            “Sure. What is it?”

            Jihoon tilted his head and laughed. “Seungcheol, it’s _you_. Don’t you see? He’s you.”

            Seungcheol sniffed, bored. “Is it? I didn’t know. That’s nice.”

            “I thought so. It’s your gift, Seungcheol.” Jihoon came toward Seungcheol, hands clasped behind him, shoulders squeezed in, putting on his cutest face that might have had a touch of something else underneath it. Something like madness.

            “The painting?” Seungcheol asked.

            Jihoon shook his head. “No. No, Seungcheol. The _wings_. They’re for you. The wings are your gift.”

            Seungcheol raised an eyebrow as Jihoon stepped right in front of him and smiled up at him. “Thanks…”

            Jihoon nodded, got on his tiptoes and kissed Seungcheol lightly on his jaw. “For you, Seungcheol. Now you can fly away.”

            Jihoon brought his right hand out from behind his back and plunged the tip of his metal paint spatula between Seungcheol’s ribs, all the way to the handle.

            Seungcheol’s eyes widened. He stared down at his chest where Jihoon’s fist was still wrapped around the handle of the pointed mixer. There was still red paint on it. Jihoon hadn’t even bothered to clean it off before he stabbed him with it. But, no…that was blood.

            Jihoon pulled the spatula out and stabbed him again, on the other side of his chest.

            At once, Seungcheol found it very hard to breathe. The thought went through his mind that Jihoon had stabbed right through his lungs. The mixer was at least four inches. It was entirely possible.

            Seungcheol said, “Baby?”

            “Fly away now, Seungcheol. I’ve painted you wings. I’ve set you free. That’s your gift. You don’t have to do this anymore. You don’t have to be you anymore. You can fly away.” He stabbed Seungcheol again, and this time Seungcheol’s knees gave out.        

            Jihoon pushed forward until Seungcheol was lying on his back. Blood was trickling down from the holes in Seungcheol’s chest, getting on the carpet. Seungcheol coughed once, weakly. He might have been screaming if he had any air to do it with.

            Jihoon stabbed him four more times, and when the seventh hole was made he put down his mixer and climbed over Seungcheol, straddling his lower belly. He held Seungcheol’s face in his hands and smiled at him. “I love you, Seungcheol. Do you like your gift? I’ve set you free. I fixed it. For you, Seungcheol. Everything for you. I love you.” He leaned down and kissed Seungcheol, whose lips were slightly parted, blueing, trying to take in oxygen.

            One of Seungcheol’s hands grasped weakly at Jihoon and a tiny noise came from the back of his throat. Jihoon sighed lovingly and took Seungcheol’s hand and laced his fingers into it, kissing it. Seungcheol stared up at him, and couldn’t do much else. Jihoon held Seungcheol’s hand against his own heart. “I know you love me. I love you, too. You’re free.”

            Seungcheol stared and his chest hitched for a little while longer. Eventually, it stopped, and his eyes lost their shine, and Jihoon smiled again.

            He kissed Seungcheol’s hand one more time, then let it drop. He closed Seungcheol’s eyes and kissed each one gently. He kissed Seungcheol’s lips once. “You’re free,” he said.

            He stood up off of Seungcheol. Seungcheol’s dark blood was smeared on his inner thighs, mixing in with Seungcheol’s come dripping from him, but Jihoon didn’t take any notice. He looked over at his painting and he smiled at it. He looked down at Seungcheol’s body and smiled at him. He scratched his neck where the bruises were healing. He looked around the old room, shook his bangs out of his eyes, and decided he was tired.

            “Free,” he said down at Seungcheol one more time, and he went into the bedroom, flicked off the light, and laid down to rest.


	6. For Baltimore (Acoustic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seungkwan is in America for a conference. The night before, Hansol knows the nerves are getting to him. He calls Seungkwan to check on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "Backseat Serenade"

The coffee machine seems to have stopped working at precisely ten a.m. like it always somehow does on Thursdays. Hansol is pretty sure one of his coworkers is messing with him. Maybe next week he should just bring his own coffee. He’s been a little out of it this morning since half of his life is halfway across the world. He can’t complain anyway—about the coffee. He learned months and months ago that someone else always has it worse than him—his first-world coffee machine problem is nothing compared to other people. Like, for example, that other half of him who isn’t here in Korea right now.

            Seungkwan is in America—Baltimore, Maryland, Johns Hopkins University, to be precise. He’ll be presenting his graduate thesis tomorrow where he is—the one that finally got accepted after reworking a good half of the paper. Hansol still remembers Seungkwan’s face when they called him to not only tell him that his thesis had been accepted, but that it was so phenomenal and ingenious that the board at Yonsei wanted to contact the members of a conference in America coming up soon for outstanding research in physics. Hansol added that day to the long list of times he got to kiss Seungkwan’s tears away.

            Seungkwan left for the conference two days ago, and Hansol’s been a little turned around since then—forgetting things and spacing out thinking about him. It’s weird not having Seungkwan here. They’ve been by each other’s side ever since that night, months and months ago. Seungkwan continuously helps him with school, with the internship he’s taken on in place of his thesis, and Hansol has helped Seungkwan with anything he needed, whether it was research for his paper, emotional health, or just grabbing a new pen when the other one ran out of ink. Hansol always knew it wasn’t all for nothing. Look at Seungkwan now. Hansol is so, _so_ proud of him and what he’s accomplished.

            So Seungkwan has good reasons to be a little bit worried, or a little bit frustrated. And Hansol knows he’s just that, right now. At just after nine o’clock where he is, he’s probably alone in his hotel room, sitting on his bed, tapping his fingers on his knees like he does, thinking about tomorrow’s presentation and exactly what he should say and how it’ll go and hoping it’ll go over well and worrying about every fine detail that couldn’t possibly ever be figured out. Seungkwan is probably incredibly anxious over tomorrow’s event. No, not probably—he _is_. Hansol doesn’t need some cosmic connection to Seungkwan (though sometimes he likes to think they have one). Hansol knows it, all the way in Korea, that Seungkwan is utterly freaking out right about now. Something should be done about that.

            So he looks at the coffee machine’s flashing red light, shrugs it off like he does with most things nowadays, and he goes back to his little temporary office. He closes the door gently behind him, considers locking it for just a few minutes, then decides against it. He sits down at his desk and pulls out his cell phone, tapping Seungkwan’s name.

            Seungkwan picks up after half a ring. “Hansol?”

            Oh, he’s definitely worrying. His voice is all high-pitched and questioning, as if Hansol calling him now is the biggest surprise in the world. Hansol provides more affection than he thinks Seungkwan needs sometimes, but _these_ times, he can never give enough to help Seungkwan.

            He says, “Hi, Kwannie. Why don’t we start with a deep breath?”

            There’s a pause. Hansol can hear Seungkwan thinking _You know me too well_ , before he draws in a long breath and sighs it out. “You always know,” he says.

            Hansol smiles. “How are you?”

            Seungkwan hums. Hansol can feel his shrug. “I’m restless. Tomorrow…”

            Hansol nods. Tomorrow, next month, ten years from now, it doesn’t matter. Seungkwan was always obsessed with the future. It doesn’t bother Hansol—he knows Seungkwan is like that. His anxiety, his fear. But Seungkwan always keeps going.

            “You’re gonna be great,” he says. “What are you worried about?”

            Seungkwan sighs again. “I don’t know. What if I stutter a lot or I say something wrong or—”

            “I think your interpreter will have your back on that one.” Hansol wanted to have that job, as a good excuse to miss work for a few days and be with Seungkwan, but they wouldn’t let him because he “isn’t licensed”.

            Seungkwan pauses like he forgot he’ll be speaking Korean and that most if not all of them won’t know what he’s saying without help. “Oh. Right. I met her today. She’s really nice. So. I hope so.”

            Hansol puts his elbow on his desk and leans his chin in his palm. “That’s good, Seungkwan. I think it’ll be just fine.”

            “How did I ever make it here, Hansol?”

            That’s another thing—Seungkwan’s self-confidence. Brilliant, handsome, insanely tenacious, _so_ kind, multitalented… And yet Seungkwan still can’t see those things a lot of the time. Sometimes, when Hansol compliments this or that passage that he wrote for some work he’s doing, Seungkwan just shrugs and says, _It’s just the science._ Sometimes, when Hansol tells Seungkwan how good his bangs look when they’re wavy like that, Seungkwan just blushes and says, _I don’t know. It’d be better on you._ But Hansol can’t expect him to just flip a switch and finally feel great about himself when Hansol tells him he’s smart or beautiful. Hansol gets it, he really does. But he also doesn’t, because how could someone so perfect not even know it about himself?

            Hansol says, “Hard work, Kwannie.”

            “Yeah but…all that work…it feels like I never even did it. More good luck, I think.”

            Hansol shakes his head. “Of course not. _You_ did this. And you’re going to tomorrow, too.”

            Seungkwan heaves another sigh. “I don’t know. I’m just really nervous and restless and I miss you and I want to just sprint down the sidewalk and maybe my energy would be better after that.”

            Hansol holds back a chuckle at the thought of Seungkwan doing that—stopping after fifty meters and being overly dramatic with his breathing and leaning on Hansol all the way back to the room. But Hansol isn’t there to lean on. Maybe sprinting isn’t quite the right thing…

            Hansol says, “There are other ways.”

            Another pause. Then a cautious, “But…but I’m…”

            Hansol smiles. Seungkwan has gotten comfortable with him during sex, but he’s still for some reason shy when talking about himself. Hansol asked once if, before they moved in together, Seungkwan had ever thought of him like that. Seungkwan blushed really hard and mumbled a very quiet _Obviously…_ Hansol figures right now is the same thing, no matter how far apart they are. “I know, baby. But it might help.”

            For a while, Seungkwan doesn’t say anything. Hansol thinks maybe Seungkwan will tell him he’ll call him back later then, but then Seungkwan says, “Then talk to me.”

            Hansol’s eyebrows lift a little. He hears Seungkwan moving around on his bed and asks, “You mean phone sex?”

            Seungkwan clicks his tongue as if embarrassed that someone on his end might possibly hear Hansol. “No. I…just need to hear your voice. Talk to me.”

            Hansol can’t help his grin. That’s probably the sweetest thing anyone has said to him. He wishes he were there so he could hug Seungkwan, and maybe a little more than that, but then Seungkwan might never have said it at all. “Okay. What do you want me to say?”

            There’s the very soft but distinct sound of a zipper and Seungkwan’s quick “Umm—” to cover it up. “It doesn’t matter. Anything. Just your voice.”

            Hansol smiles again and leans back into his chair. “Okay. Are you comfortable?”

            “Shhh.”

            Hansol laughs silently. “Okay. So…do you remember…oh, when was it? We had just gotten together then. Maybe three or four weeks later? When we went down into the library looking for more articles for your paper. Do you remember that?”

            It was cold out that day, with grey skies like snow would be falling soon. Hansol suggested that morning that they should spend the day under the school in the big, dusty stacks in the basement of the university library where most people never went, opting instead for the new desktop computers on the second and third floors. Hansol and Seungkwan really were new then—had probably been on no more than five or six dates. Well, _real_ dates anyway, because the times when they weren’t on a date were still spent together in class or at lunch in the cafeteria or studying at one of their places. Since meeting Seungkwan, Hansol’s life has been like one really long, really amazing date with a few breaks here and there for work.

            “I remember,” Seungkwan says. His voice is already getting softer.

            Hansol thinks about him, about his hand and his body. He tries not to see it too well or else he’ll have to get back up to lock the door. “We were totally alone. It was so quiet. I had never been in there before that day with you. I probably looked pretty funny gawking up at the shelves.” He laughs. When he does, Seungkwan makes the smallest sound in the back of his throat. Hansol’s chest warms from it, and he smiles again. “I think maybe I squeezed your hand too hard. Did I?”

            Seungkwan breathes and says, “Yes. I didn’t mind.”

            Hansol crosses his arm over his chest, hugging himself. “Oh, good. We made the mistake of starting in D, didn’t we. Would have saved us so much time if we had just begun at the beginning. It took hours for what we didn’t even know we were looking for, huh? But it’s okay. I’d spend hours with you every day. Lifetimes.”

            Seungkwan makes the sound again, and Hansol hears him move on the bed. “Remember when I scared you?” Hansol says. “You were in G then. I came around the aisle and you jumped and you frowned at me and went back to the books. I liked that time. And when we got to R together and there was that space in the books on the shelf that we got to at exactly the same time. What did I do then?” he asks.

            Seungkwan takes a few breaths and says, sighing it out, “You…you touched my nose…”

            Hansol hums. “Yeah. You have a really cute nose.” Seungkwan doesn’t answer. Hansol smiles and says, “We started to get tired though. We went through R and S and even through the W’s and still we couldn’t get something we were looking for, not that we knew what it was. I think I pulled a journal once and found an article, but you told me you already had it. We got discouraged, I think. You went to sit on one of the tables— _on_ , I remember, not in one of the chairs.” He chuckles. “But I kept looking. And finally I was about to give up when I remembered I hadn’t looked in the beginning yet, and I found it. Remember? It was in B. The article on albedo features on black hole apertures. You used it to talk about red-blue shift changes in response to the massive gravity. Yeah—I found it and I knew you were gonna love it and so I went to go bring it to you and I saw you there on the table, sitting on the edge, swinging your feet. I came to stand in front of you with my hands behind my back and you had this curious face on. And I showed it to you and…you got so excited.”

            He really did. It was the most excited Hansol had ever seen Seungkwan. He grabbed the article from Hansol’s hands and flipped through it so fast and wiggled on the table and his thighs looked so good like that. He had thanked Hansol too many times and he stared up at Hansol with this look in his eyes that made Hansol’s heart go all supernova in his chest. Hansol had put his hands on Seungkwan’s knees and pushed them apart so he could stand closer to him between them, and Seungkwan put the journal down and reached up to hold Hansol’s face. Hansol let his hands roam Seungkwan’s thighs so gently while they kissed.

            “I’m so happy that I got to see you then,” Hansol says. “To watch you excited like that. I couldn’t help but kiss you. You wanted something, didn’t you.”

            “Ah—” Seungkwan’s voice is shaky, like he was suddenly pulled out of some spell he was under. “I—what?”

            “At that time, when we were at the table like that. We had to pull away but I saw the look in your eyes, big and dark and sparkling. You wanted something. Tell me what it was, Seungkwan. Don’t take your hand away.”

            Seungkwan seems to pause once again, as if he had been doing just that. Hansol always did know him well. He imagines Seungkwan shifting his fingers on himself as he says, “What do you mean?”

            Hansol smiles gently. “Aren’t you alone, babe?”

            Hansol can hear Seungkwan’s audible swallow. “Yeah. But…”

            Hansol’s smile widens. “It’s okay to be nervous. We haven’t done this before, hm? How about I take a guess at what you wanted, and you can tell me if it’s right or not. Yeah?”

            A sound like Seungkwan is nodding fast, and then a small, “Okay.”

            “Well…I know how much you’ve always liked when I touch your thighs. Maybe you wanted me to squeeze them a little harder. Maybe you wanted your jeans to be out of the way so my hands could be on your gorgeous skin. Maybe you wanted me to pull those thighs closer to me, and maybe our hips would be touching then, and we’d be a lot closer together, up against each other—our hips, our bodies, our mouths, everything. Am I on the right track, baby?”

            After a moment, Seungkwan lets out a shaky sigh. “Yes, Hansol.”

            “Are you still…?”

            “Yes. I wish you were here.”

            “Close your eyes, Kwannie.” Hansol pauses, knowing that Seungkwan did as he said. “Good. So…maybe then, you wanted me to take your jeans off for you. Maybe you wanted me to let my fingers run smooth on your skin for a while so you could feel it while I kissed you. Maybe you wanted to take my shirt in your hands and pull it off me and throw it to the side so you could put your hands on me like you love to do. Maybe…maybe you wanted me to…” He purposefully trails off. “Am I still right?”

            Seungkwan only whimpers.

            Hansol softens his voice a little bit more. “And then…maybe you wanted me to lean you back onto the table. You wanted me to push you down, and I could keep one hand on your perfect thigh and the other anywhere else you liked while I made love to you there. Maybe you wanted to feel me there close to you, inside you, to cover your mouth with your hand to try and stay quiet so all those old books and journals didn’t know what we were up to right behind their backs. Maybe you wanted to feel yourself reaching that edge before you spilled over and I couldn’t possibly take my hands or my eyes away from you and finally the books could hear the way you felt from me. Are you close, baby?”

            By the sound of Seungkwan’s breathing—those little staccato tremors in his breath that Hansol has grown to love over their time together, those tiny shakes that Seungkwan gets when he’s about to be done—he is very close. Hansol sometimes thinks about the first time they were together, that night when it was raining and he found Seungkwan in his car alone, crying. Seungkwan had told him about his Master’s thesis being rejected, and now here he is, about to present it to scholars from across America and the world. Sometimes Hansol thinks about that night—a _lot_ of times he thinks about that night because he knows how much it changed the course of his life—and he remembers that Seungkwan didn’t make those cute little trembling sounds. Maybe it’s because Seungkwan wasn’t Seungkwan then. Not with him, anyway. They hadn’t developed that trust level yet that allowed Seungkwan to fully let go during those times with Hansol. Hansol understands, and when he thinks back to that time, he often smiles at the thought that only a week later, in the pale yellow sheets of Hansol’s bed that Seungkwan laughed at him for having because he thought they were a fancy shade of white, Hansol _did_ get to hear those beautiful sounds from Seungkwan. He would have heard them in the library, too, had they not heard another student come into the stacks from the elevator a few moments after Hansol stood between Seungkwan’s knees to kiss him.

            Seungkwan hasn’t answered him yet—only breathed like that.

            “I know you are, baby,” Hansol says. “I can feel you.”

            Seungkwan whimpers again. Hansol imagines him twisting on his bed, those gorgeous thighs of his squeezing in while his hand works gently around what’s between them. “Hansol. I miss you so much.”

            “You’re going to do amazing, Seungkwan. You are _so_ brilliant. You’ve worked so hard for such a long time. And I know you’re nervous, baby, I know. But you know that would never stop you, and you know that the moment you get up there to speak, you’re going to be a wonder to them. That interpreter better do you well.” He laughs softly, and Seungkwan sighs into the phone, shaky like it always is, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. “You’ll be great, Seungkwan,” Hansol says. “I am so proud of you. I can’t wait to see you step off that plane from Baltimore so confidently. I can’t wait to give you the hardest longest hug ever and tell you how incredible you are. I’ll never be able to tell you enough, Seungkwan. I’ll never tell you enough, I’ll never kiss you enough, I’ll never look at you enough, I’ll never love you enough. I love you. I miss you too, so much, and I love you.

            Seungkwan makes a choked sound on the other end of the line, and then he’s breathing a little harder and he’s letting out those incredible moans that Hansol also got to hear only a week after their first time together. This time, Seungkwan is trying not to be loud—it sounds like he’s rolled sideways on his pillows and buried half his face into them. Hansol can hardly bear the sight of him in his mind. Seungkwan is too beautiful.

            When Seungkwan has caught his breath for a moment, Hansol says, “So, was I right?”

            Seungkwan’s laugh is the best thing he’s ever heard—tired, blissful, annoyed, and so pretty. “Yes,” he nearly whispers. “Yes, you were right. Hansol…”

            “You’ll be perfect, Seungkwan. Even your mistakes are perfect. You can do it. I know you can. Do it for your professors who rejected your work, do it for the classmates who gave you weird looks, do it for that one kid who always took your study block in the library on Tuesdays.” He smiles again. “Do it for me. And most importantly, do it for you.”

            “I really wish you were here with me.”

            Hansol closes his eyes briefly. “I love you, Seungkwan. I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you.”

            “I love you. It’s okay.” He sighs again and says, “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

            Hansol laughs aloud now, swiveling in his office chair. Shouldn’t he be asking the same of Seungkwan? “It’s morning here, Kwannie. But I just wanted to hear your voice.”

            He knows Seungkwan is blushing on the other side of the world—from what he just did, and because he always blushes when Hansol says small things like that. Seungkwan’s voice is so quiet when he says, “Oh yeah. I’m…glad I could hear yours.”

            Hansol smiles and nods. “Me too, Kwannie. Get some rest, all right? Call me as soon as you can tomorrow and tell me how it went, though I already know they’ll love you. Better—they’ll be stunned by you.”

            “Hansol…”

            “And besides, they can fill that whole room with love for you, but I bet I could beat them any day.”

            Seungkwan clicks his tongue, and his voice starts to break. “I—I don’t want—don’t say that. I need to sleep well for my speech.”

            Hansol also learned that week after they were first together that Seungkwan becomes touchy after being intimate—not in a bad way, but in a way that Hansol can give the smallest compliment and Seungkwan will start to cry. Maybe it’s because Seungkwan isn’t used to them. Maybe it’s because, to Seungkwan, they aren’t small.

            He smiles gently. “I’m sorry, baby. You’re right—sleep well, okay? Call me.”

            “I will, Hansol.”

            “Don’t be too nervous.”

            “For you.”

            “I love you.”

            “I love you, too. I don’t want to say good night.”

            “It’s all right, Kwannie. You’re going to be everything you always are. Don’t worry too much.”

            “Okay.”

            “Good night, Seungkwan.”

            “Good night, Hansol.”

            Hansol pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call. He locks it, then clicks the home button one more time to look at the picture he took secretly from around the corner of a huge shelf of books—the picture of Seungkwan, sitting on the edge of a table, swinging his feet.

            There’s a knock on his door and it opens. One of his coworkers looks in and says, “Hey, man. I think the coffee machine is fixed.”

            Hansol locks his phone and holds it tightly in both hands, smiling. “Be right there.”


	7. A Daydream Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seokmin can never let Soonyoung know how he feels.

Seokmin looks over at Soonyoung sitting next to him on the floor.

            Soonyoung tips over onto the tiles, holding his stomach. His ridiculous laugh rings out around the kitchen, his pretty eyes squeezed shut and his cheeks bright with the sun coming in through the windows, his funny teeth showing in that foolish grin and his hair falling in a bleached puff around his head.

            Seokmin laughs with him, locking his gaze on Soonyoung’s happiness.

            Most weekdays, they hang out, wherever they feel like (and where their parents will allow). On the weekends, it’s the same. Today, like every Tuesday, they’re supposed to be studying, but they never do. They always meet at one of their houses after school to “do homework” and “study for tests,” and while sometimes Seokmin manages to get work in, helping Soonyoung with the things he doesn’t get, it almost always ends like this, with the two of them balled up on the floor telling stupid jokes and talking about pointless things and doing no work at all.

            Seokmin wouldn’t change a thing.

            Soonyoung’s giggles die down a little bit and he opens his eyes to look sideways up at Seokmin from the floor, legs still crisscrossed while pointing vertically at the ceiling. “Good one,” he says, words wavering with laughter.

            Seokmin looks into his eyes, shrugging. “I came up with it earlier.”

            Soonyoung sighs and shakes his head, hair rubbing against the tiles and sticking up a little with static. “That smile of yours, Seokmin, I swear.”

            Seokmin does his best to keep the smile on. It’s hard, when Soonyoung says things like that. It’s hard to hear those kinds of compliments from him—the compliments Seokmin wishes he could give Soonyoung without sounding as smitten as he is, the compliments that Seokmin wishes he could hear from Soonyoung with the knowledge that Soonyoung feels that way too.

            Soonyoung doesn’t, though. And Soonyoung doesn’t know how Seokmin feels either. Seokmin will never tell him. It would ruin everything, and then he wouldn’t even have this little bit of Soonyoung anymore. So he keeps a safe distance.

            He shrugs again and says, “Parents gave it to me.”

            Soonyoung squints his eyes, his lips still curled in a smile at the corners. “Maybe. I think you built it for yourself, though.”

 

…

 

“Hey Seokmin?”

            Seokmin looks over at Soonyoung sitting next to him on the edge of the dock. The water sparkles in his periphery, the afternoon sun starting to dip to just a hand above the horizon. Soonyoung’s hair wiggles in the breeze as he gazes out at the lake, arms wrapped around his knees. Seokmin says, “Yeah?”

            “Do you have a crush on anyone?”

            Seokmin blinks at Soonyoung, then looks out at the water. He swings his legs, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

            Soonyoung smiles halfway. “You don’t know?”

            Seokmin shrugs again.

            Soonyoung tilts his head. “Is it that girl from algebra? She’s pretty, huh?”

            Sure she is. Seokmin is sure that Soonyoung thinks just as much. That’s sort of the problem, isn’t it. “Yeah, she is pretty cool.”

            Soonyoung laughs and leans into Seokmin’s side briefly. Seokmin has taught himself how to keep from tensing his muscles. Soonyoung says, “Ah. Shy. It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

            Seokmin knows he’s supposed to say, _What about you?_ But he’s also not supposed to be in love with Soonyoung.

            “You should talk to her, though,” Soonyoung says. “If you want to.”

            Seokmin puts his hands in his lap. “Maybe.”

            “I know it’s probably hard. To talk to someone you like that way. Especially about that kind of thing.”

            Seokmin accidentally says, “I think it’s easy.”

            Soonyoung smiles over at him. Seokmin is never sure if it’s a mistake or the best thing he’s ever done when he says something that makes Soonyoung smile at him. “Yeah?” Soonyoung says. “You should then.”

            Seokmin smiles, but not really.

            Soonyoung’s smile turns into another of his grins, and then he’s standing up on the dock and pulling his shirt over his head. Seokmin watches him make a running jump, cannonballing into the water in his jeans shorts. Soonyoung pops up to the surface a few meters out, glittering all along his pale shoulders and collarbones. He pushes his hair back from those amazing eyes of his, and like always, he laughs.

            Seokmin keeps his safe distance, and is glad that it’s enough that Soonyoung can’t tell he’s staring. The sun will go down soon enough, and they’ll have to head home. But it doesn't matter to Seokmin when they get back. He would be content for this to last forever.

            Soonyoung waves a hand and calls, “Come on, Seokmin. Share the moment with me.”

 

…

 

Seokmin looks over at Soonyoung sitting next to him on the log. It wobbles underneath them, and then Soonyoung is slipping backwards, landing first on his butt and then flat on his back. His drink spills onto his shirt, salt and lime sticking to the fabric, ice dropping to the grass of Seokmin’s back yard.

            Soonyoung blinks up at the starry sky, arms splayed out to his sides. “Whoa.”

            Seokmin gets up and goes to him, lifting him off the ground. “I told you you couldn’t take it. We’re too young.”

            Soonyoung giggles and gets shakily to his feet. “We’re too young for everything.”

            Seokmin brushes the leaves and dirt from Soonyoung’s back. He’s thankful that his parents are out for the night—the smell of Soonyoung’s alcohol-soaked shirt would get them into trouble. “Let’s go inside.”

            Soonyoung manages to walk, leaning on Seokmin’s body. “I think I’m drunk, Seokmin.”

            Seokmin nods, leading Soonyoung to the back door of his house. He doesn’t want Soonyoung to be found out—if Soonyoung got grounded, they wouldn’t hang out for at least a week. He wouldn’t be able to stand it. He’ll come back later to clean up. “Uh huh. Inside.”

            “But it’s pretty,” Soonyoung says. Delayed, he throws his arm out to indicate the night. He overbalances and starts to tip backwards again. Seokmin catches him, wrapping both arms around him and hauling him back up. Soonyoung smiles and wraps his arms around Seokmin in return. “Ah…I like hugs.”

            Seokmin knew that. He would hug Soonyoung more often, but who is he kidding. “Come on, Soonyoung.”

            Inside, Seokmin leads Soonyoung up the stairs into his bedroom. Soonyoung plops down in the middle of the floor. Then he looks down at himself and holds his shirt out from his body. “Seokmin, I spilled on myself.”

            “Yeah, you did,” Seokmin says. He goes to a drawer and finds one of his t-shirts, a white one. “Have this. To sleep in. I’ll wash yours.”

            He hands the clean shirt to Soonyoung and waits while he pulls off the wet one. He takes it to the laundry and starts it even though the load is too small. When he comes back to his room, Soonyoung is still on the floor. The shirt is too big for him. Seokmin has gotten better at not thinking about those kinds of things too much.

            “You should rest.”

            Soonyoung looks up at him and nods. “Okay.” He doesn’t move.

            Seokmin clicks his tongue and goes to him, helping him up onto his bed.

            “My parents will kill me when they get home,” Soonyoung says, lying down.

            Soonyoung can’t even remember that they’re at Seokmin’s house, not his. Seokmin just nods. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. Our secret.”

            Soonyoung’s lips spread in another grin, eyes squinting. “Really?”

            “Yeah. Sleep now.”

            Soonyoung rolls sideways towards Seokmin and closes his eyes.

            Seokmin starts for the door to go down and clean up their mess outside. Behind him, Soonyoung mumbles, “I want someone like you when I’m older.”

 

…

 

“They try so hard, don’t they?”

            Seokmin looks over at Soonyoung sitting next to him on the steps. “Who?”

            Soonyoung tilts his chin out at the sidewalk across the street. A beautiful girl is handing her bag to what looks like her boyfriend to carry, even though her hands are otherwise empty and he already has two shopping bags. The boy smiles and takes it from her.

            “Guys like that,” Soonyoung says. “They try so hard for their girlfriends. Is that how it’s supposed to be?”

            Seokmin watches the couple walk away. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

            Soonyoung hums. “I think it doesn’t take that much. Don’t you think? Shouldn’t it be more…less? It should be an equal thing.”

            Seokmin nods. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

            “Like us,” Soonyoung says. “Relationships should be like how we are—like best friends. Like, hang out together all the time and do nothing and stuff like that. I bet that would be the perfect relationship. Don’t you think?”

            Seokmin is about to answer when Soonyoung adds, “Especially with a pretty girl like that.”

            Seokmin closes his mouth, and he nods again. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

            Soonyoung squeezes open a bag of chips with a loud _pop_ , sending one flying. He catches it before it hits the steps. “Anyway, they should both be carrying the same amount of stuff.” He puts the chip in his mouth and holds the bag out for Seokmin to share.

 

…

 

“Hey Seokmin?”

            Seokmin looks over at Soonyoung sitting next to him on the rooftop. “Yeah?”

            “What do you think you’d say if someone told you they loved you?”

            Seokmin looks at him for a second while Soonyoung looks out at the sunrise peeking over the tops of the trees. “Hm?”

            “Like…like real love, you know?” Soonyoung says.

            Seokmin knows. Love that makes you wonder why you’re still awake at 2 a.m. Love that makes you blink half as often as you probably should because you don’t want to stop looking at him. Love that makes you constantly hope that you can somehow someday share it with this person who you know doesn’t have that same real love for you.

            “Like,” Soonyoung continues. “Like not how you love your mom or how you love your best friend. Like… _real_ love.”

            But Seokmin doesn’t think about that either. Why would he when he knows it won’t happen. “I don’t know. I think I wouldn’t know what to say. Why do you ask?”

            Soonyoung shrugs. “Curiosity, I guess. I’ve never loved anyone that way yet.”

            Seokmin waits for Soonyoung to say, _What about you?_

            Soonyoung says, squinting at the sun, “It’s too bright now. Want to go sit on the couch?”

            Seokmin nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

            They start back for Soonyoung’s bedroom window. “I’m hungry,” Soonyoung says.

            “I can make your favorite,” Seokmin says.

            Soonyoung hops down into his bedroom and walks to the door. He looks over his shoulder at Seokmin. The rising sun paints his skin golden, turns his too-big white t-shirt into an orange one, and his eyes shine. He smiles and says, “You always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked the style of this one. It just sort of happened once I heard the song. Thank you to j for the song idea/request idk but thank you!  
> I'm really starting to love this project. I never thought I would write more than the first 5, but they're churning out quickly and turning out so well. Thank you all for reading :)


	8. Let It Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't easy waking up in a strange place. But Soonyoung is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don’t know about them already, it will help to go here to read briefly about The Trolley Problem(6) and Beetle In A Box(3)  
> https://io9.gizmodo.com/9-philosophical-thought-experiments-that-will-keep-you-1340952809

A soft thump on the floor.

            Chan rolls over and draws in a deep breath, blinking his eyes open at his pillow that just fell off the bed. Looking just a little further away, he sees Soonyoung, lying on his back on the ground, one arm behind his head and the other resting on top of his blanket over his body. Soonyoung is still asleep.

            It’s light out. Chan looks up at the clock and reads half past four in the afternoon. Makes sense, considering how long they drove last night and that they arrived at almost five a.m. They’ve been driving for four days—straight from California all the way here, stopping only to eat and sleep.

            Soonyoung’s parents moved here to America, just like Chan’s did, six years ago. But Chan’s parents chose LA while Soonyoung’s opted for the upper east coast—Vermont, where the hills roll on for miles, “and the cows greet you as often as the people do,” Soonyoung says.

            Chan tilts his head at the thought, looking down at Soonyoung’s calm face.

            Some twist of fate made them both attend UCLA. For Chan, it was the closest one and he got in. Soonyoung says he applied to twelve different schools all across the country when he wanted to transfer (writing eight essays in the process; he could always bang out masterpieces in two hours, amazing Chan) and that something about UCLA called to him once he got his acceptance email. One time, Soonyoung jokingly said that the something must have been Chan. At least, Chan thinks he was just joking.

            Some other twist of fate put them both in 19th Century Japanese Literature, even though Chan studied history and Soonyoung studied ecology. But Soonyoung only named that his major. He studied everything he possibly could—math, science, art, music, literature, philosophy—one of his personal favorites. Maybe that’s why it took him six years to do what took Chan three. And Soonyoung still constantly self-teaches. “Our time is fleeting,” he says, his own little motto. Chan admires him for wanting to know everything he can in life. Chan always just wanted to become a teacher and settle down in the suburbs and do whatever people who teach and live in the suburbs do. Maybe all of that is why Soonyoung ended up in that class. Chan always just wanted to learn about Japan, but Soonyoung always wanted to learn about anything.

            And a final event—maybe not so much a twist of fate as a few lingering glances across the room—made them partners for a project in class on the book they were reading. Chan remembers Soonyoung doing everything—the planning, the writing, the drawing (he’s a brilliant artist, too), and most of the research. Chan insisted he do something of importance, when they first planned it out. He told Soonyoung that he felt bad that he was going to be doing all the work and that there must be something he could do to help earn the grade he already knew Soonyoung would be getting for them. But Soonyoung only smiled at him and said that there was only one thing he needed Chan to do, and that he really _needed_ it, or else the project wouldn’t work. _You’re the lynchpin_ , Soonyoung said. And Soonyoung asked Chan to read the entire novel out loud to him.

            That was how easy it was for them to start their relationship. It happened on its own, with the not-yet-known as their facilitator and Soonyoung’s craving for knowledge and for Chan their motivator. Four days of reading in Soonyoung’s single dorm, of Chan starting out nervous about how he should inflect things and stumbling here and there to eventually becoming comfortable with knowing Soonyoung was listening to his every word. Four days of Soonyoung getting up randomly and coming back with a glass of water and saying, _This’ll make your throat feel better, Channie. Here_. Four days of Soonyoung saying, _Stop_ , and Chan learning quickly that that meant Soonyoung was on to something, and sometimes he waited half an hour while Soonyoung worked intensely in silence until he turned back around and made an easy smile at Chan and said, _Okay. Keep going_. Four days of a different kind of learning for Chan—Soonyoung saying, _You have the perfect voice for this book, Channie,_ and then watching him while he read, looking over at him in that way Chan only thought people looked at people in the movies; Soonyoung telling him, _A little more. Don’t be shy. And don’t be so tense. Put your hands here,_ and bringing Chan’s hands around the back of his neck before holding his waist while he taught him how to kiss; Soonyoung saying, _I know we don’t love each other yet, but I’m still going to make love to you_ , when he gave Chan his first and second and third times. Four days with Soonyoung on this project, and an inability to stop being with Soonyoung once they got the A+ that Chan already knew was coming. On that fourth night, they thanked each other with a welcome fourth time.

            Chan doesn’t really know what it was that suddenly made Soonyoung suggest that they road trip back to what is now Soonyoung’s own home in Vermont the day after they graduated. He doesn’t really know what it was that made him say yes, either. Maybe it was because, after only that final semester of both of their degrees when they met in that class, Chan already knew where he was headed, and it was way, way down for Soonyoung. The vision of suburbs and college classroom with his own students faded secondary behind the image of Soonyoung in his life. His purpose became Soonyoung, and he thinks that it’s the other way around, too. Soonyoung never talks about the future, unless he wants to debate with Chan about how the world will end (and, as an ecology student, Soonyoung always wins that debate), or unless Soonyoung goes into a philosophical monologue about the existence of man and life in the universe and where the universe has got to after all this time and whether or not corporeality exists on the same plane as thought or if they’re really not connected in the first place and hours and hours of things Chan will never understand like Soonyoung does. Chan will never understand Soonyoung at all. He doesn’t need to understand him—he thinks it’s even better that way. Soonyoung has that positive allure of being something Chan will never fully have. Chan will always be searching for new corners of Soonyoung’s ever-widening mind. And where Chan lusts after Soonyoung’s seemingly infinite expanse of knowledge, Soonyoung lusts after Chan’s infinite capacity to listen to him. If there were ever two people so destined to be together by some strange twist of fate, it was them.

            Chan blinks at the ceiling, thinking that Soonyoung would like that line a lot. He often thinks it funny how that’s the truth of their relationship when it started by Soonyoung listening to him.

            And then it all sort of hits him in the stomach. Everything he had is hundreds of miles away. His family, his school, his job opportunities, his life. All he has left of it is the piece of paper congratulating him on his Bachelor’s degree, and Soonyoung, lying there on the floor. A wave of panic and anger washes over him—the thought that he has to go home right now, that he was stupid to do this at all, that he hates Soonyoung for taking him away like this.

            But he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to go, he isn’t stupid, and he doesn’t hate Soonyoung. How could he ever hate someone so near to divine?

            He blinks again and sits up, getting out of the bed ( _his_ bed) and going to the window. When he pulls back the curtains he can see the landscape outside, all green grass and rolling hills and trees turning auburn and gold with the season. In the distance, at the edge of the closest town, there is a huge brick building—the library that Chan knows is the reason for Soonyoung coming back here. A little farther off is a grade school—kindergarten through junior high.

            _“There’s a job opening there soon,” Soonyoung says. It’s one o’clock in the morning on their final day of driving. They’ll be at Soonyoung’s inherited house in just under four hours._

_“Will you take it?” Chan asks._

_Soonyoung smiles. “The job is for a sixth grade world history teacher.”_

_Chan watches another highway exit pass by, sodium lights fading behind them. “Oh.”_

If Chan looked out the other side of the house, there would be nothing but land. Soonyoung has never told him just how much his parents left him, but Chan has seen enough now to know that it’s more than anything he could imagine. It’s perfect serenity, all of it. It was no mistake coming here. He’ll have to get over the fact that everything he knew is gone and just start over.

            “You didn’t pull the lever.”

            Chan startles and turns around. Soonyoung is in the exact same place, but his eyes are open and he’s smiling. “You’re awake,” Chan says.

            “Your pillow fell.”

            “Oh. What?” Chan asks.

            “For me,” Soonyoung says. He sits up and his blanket falls, revealing his upper body. “You killed the other ones for only me. I thought you were utilitarian.”

            Chan blinks at him. “I am.”

            “You must like me a lot then.”

            Chan just looks at him. “That bed is a lot more comfortable than the car.”

            Soonyoung laughs and leans back on his hands. “Definitely. Even the floor is better than that.”

            “Why are you on the floor?”

            Soonyoung tilts his head, that easy smile on his lips. “You asked me to stay with you.”

            _“Okay. I’ll head to the other room now,” Soonyoung says, standing in the doorway._

_Chan, sitting on the edge of his new bed in his new home, not an hour before the sun comes up, nods. “Okay.”_

_Soonyoung starts to go._

_“Actually—can you stay in here?” Soonyoung turns and gazes at him like those people do in the movies. “I know that’s stupid,” Chan says._

_Soonyoung shakes his head. “Of course I can. I’ll sleep on the floor.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because when you wake up you’re going to freak out a little bit and you might be more comfortable if I’m not in bed with you.”_

_“Oh. Okay.”_

Soonyoung was right, wasn’t he. “Oh. Yeah. I forgot.”

            “Are you?”

            “What?”

            “Freaking out.”

            “Oh.” He breathes in.

            “It’s okay,” Soonyoung says. “I thought you might.”

            Chan nods. “It isn’t because of you.”

            “What does your beetle look like today?”

            _“It’s a thought experiment,” Soonyoung says. They’re lying on his bed in his dorm. Chan still holds Soonyoung’s hand from when Soonyoung offered it for the expected discomfort of Chan’s first experience. It wasn’t that bad, and the whole of it was quite good, but Chan just wants to hold Soonyoung’s hand._

_“What does it mean?” Chan asks._

_“It means that no matter what, my beetle will always be different from your beetle, in the way that you perceive it. Only you can describe your true beetle to me.”_

_“It’s a metaphor,” Chan guesses._

_“It is.”_

_“For your mind.”_

_“Right now,” Soonyoung says, “my beetle is blushing madly.”_

_Chan is too, because of that. “Mine is…thankful.”_

_Soonyoung chuckles and holds Chan’s hand tighter._

_Chan squeezes back, and engraves this new code they have in his mind._

“It’s sitting in the corner of the box,” Chan says. “I think it’s scared.”

            Soonyoung nods. “I understand.”

            Chan nods again. “It’ll be better soon.”

            “Mine is yellow today,” Soonyoung says.

            “Is it?”

            “Mhm. I think that means it’s really happy.”

            Chan’s lips twitch in the smallest smile. “That’s good. Maybe your beetle can help my beetle.”

            Soonyoung waves Chan over. Chan goes to him and sits in front of him on the floor. “Take a breath,” Soonyoung tells him.

            Chan does. He tries to let all of his thoughts about California and everything back there flow from his body as he breathes out.

            “You and me,” Soonyoung says. “It’s all we know.”

            For someone who knows so much, it amazes Chan that Soonyoung would think of them like that.

            He puts his hand out, and when Soonyoung takes it, he leans back until he’s lying on the floor in the light. Kneeling there, Soonyoung folds his blanket and places it under Chan’s hips. It isn’t long before their clothes are to the side and Chan is wrapping his arms around Soonyoung’s back, and Soonyoung is bringing his face close to Chan’s and whispering to him things that Chan will forget by the time they’re done but that will stay with him forever. Chan kisses him when he can, and he lifts his hips sometimes, and he listens to the mad things Soonyoung says because that is what Soonyoung loves most about him and what he loves most about Soonyoung. And when they’re done, Soonyoung arranges the blanket more comfortably for Chan to rest on and he cleans up what he needs to and he says, “Channie, I can get you that interview.”

            Chan lies on the floor with his eyes closed, breathing in their smell that’s making the foreign smell of this whole place more familiar to him already. No, he’ll never know the beetle in Soonyoung’s box, and he’ll never know if he should have pulled the lever. He’ll never know what could have happened for him back there. Maybe none of that matters anymore.

            “Tomorrow,” he says.

            Soonyoung comes to lie down with him on the floor. “All right.”

            “I know our time is fleeting,” Chan says.

            And Soonyoung says, “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I just randomly wrote this today. Which is probably why it's short. But it's just what it needs to be, I think.


	9. Merry Christmas, Kiss My Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mingyu got away with it for a while, but Jeonghan is no fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! December is here, which means it’s time for the Christmas Special! Thank you to those who voted on my Twitter for this pairing. It’s probably not what you were expecting…but I think it’s one of my all time favorites.  
> This is dedicated to Any_day_now, suju10969, and mivp! You guys always comment on anything I write. Thank you so much for your constant support ;;  
> Please enjoy!  
> And oh yeah,  
> *Language Alert*

**_Christmas Eve, 6:00 p.m._ **

“But I’m capping it at three,” Seungcheol says, smiling.

            Mingyu grins back, rolling his eyes and waving his drink glass at Seungcheol. “Yeah, yeah. I hold it well.”

            Seungcheol just nods at him. “Uh huh. Good luck.”

            Mingyu winks and walks back to his conversation with Jisoo.

            Seungcheol watches him, then leans back against the drink table at the edge of the room, crossing his ankles.

            “Is there really a cap?” Jihoon asks, standing next to him.

            Seungcheol sips his own drink. “For him there is.”

            Jihoon clicks his tongue. “Who invited him to the office party anyway? He doesn’t work here.”

            “I did,” Seungcheol says. “A couple weeks ago.”

            “Jeonghan?” Jihoon asks.

            Seungcheol nods. “Yep. And then, in light of recent events, we figured we’d leave the invitation open.”

            Jihoon lifts a brow. “What events?”

            Seungcheol looks down at the pearl-white face of his watch, then gazes at the door to their main office, evergreen and red ribbon Christmas wreath hanging on it by one hook. He wonders briefly if it’ll fall off or not. “Mm. Shouldn’t be long now.”

            Jihoon looks where he’s looking. “What did you plan?”

            Seungcheol sighs gently. “The only one planning anything was Mingyu.”

            Jihoon looks over at Mingyu, free hand with its expensive gold Swiss watch in his expensive suit pocket, soaking in the attention of Jisoo and Junhui and anyone else who cares to listen to him speak that loudly. Jihoon looks at Seungcheol, watching the door, blank expression on his face. And Jihoon says, “Oh shit.”

            The door swings open and knocks against the inside wall. On the rebound, Seungcheol watches the wreath think about falling, but stay holding on.

            Jeonghan, eyes squinted behind his gold-rimmed glasses, says into the silence from the doorway, “Kim fucking Mingyu.”

            Across the room, Mingyu’s fingers stiffen around his drink, and his eyes go wide.

 

…

 

**_June 28, Six Months Earlier_ **

Seungcheol does the same little squeeze as always when Jeonghan hugs him goodbye. His arms tighten around Jeonghan’s back briefly before they pull away and he says, “Bye, Hannie. See you Monday.”

            Jeonghan smiles and waves to him, watching Choi Seungcheol, his boss and his best friend who he loves more than anyone, walk out to the street from the outdoor restaurant they had dinner at to catch a cab.

            Seungcheol looks back at him for a second, then turns fully to face him again, puts his hands out and motions widely, and calls over, “The lights, Han! They’re you!”

            Jeonghan turns around and looks up. The restaurant seating is draped in Christmas lights, casting a golden glow over the tables where they were just sitting. They’re beautiful, and from where Seungcheol is standing they must be making an arch around Jeonghan’s frame in the dark. Jeonghan turns back and grins. “Take a photo then, you sap!”

            Seungcheol pulls out his phone and does just that.

            Jeonghan shakes his head at him. “You’re weird.”

            “Next Saturday?” Seungcheol asks.

            He doesn’t need to ask—they always do something on Saturdays, and it’s not like they won’t see each other at work every day during the week, but it’s become a sort of joke between them that one of them mentions it every time, just to be sure.

            Jeonghan nods. “Of course!”

            “See you later!” Seungcheol waves again, then sees a taxi coming by from the corner of his eye and jumps, shouting, to hail it.

            Jeonghan chuckles. Seungcheol may be the boss of him and his many other employees and may have a pretty good standing—enough to have a house, an actual _house_ with two whole stories down in Busan that he kindly lets Jeonghan visit with him in the spring—but he’s still the same person Jeonghan has known since they were kids together.

            He pulls out his phone to check the time—almost ten. Pocketing his phone again, he turns to start down the sidewalk. He still has plenty of time to run by the convenience store really quick before—

            He locks eyes by chance with a stranger, and it makes him stutter in his walk. And then he stops, and he knows he’s staring but he can’t seem to get his body to do anything.

            The stranger, just walking by in some moment of what Jeonghan is starting to think is serendipity, looks back at him for a while, and then he smiles, and he starts to walk straight towards him.

            Jeonghan swallows and looks sideways, wondering if he’s standing between the stranger and someone he knows or if he really is looking at him.

            “Just you,” the stranger says.

            Jeonghan blinks up at him as he finally comes to stand in front of him. “Me? I—hi.”

            The stranger does a funny, incredibly good-looking laugh. “Ah—” He bows respectfully. “Mingyu. It’s nice to meet you.”

            Jeonghan looks into those calm, seriously gorgeous eyes for a second, wondering what wouldn’t have happened if he and Seungcheol had left two minutes earlier, before bowing back. “Jeonghan.”

            Mingyu smiles again and nods. “I’m sorry if I was staring. I couldn’t help but notice you under these lights. You look very beautiful.”

            Jeonghan’s face feels warm. “Thank you. You too. I mean, you’re—” He puts a hand out. “You’re handsome.” He nods once, kicking himself internally.

            Mingyu doesn’t seem to mind. He just looks down at him with those eyes of his, an easy smile curving his pretty lips on the corners. “Thank you, that’s kind of you. It looks like you’re about to leave and I know this is sudden, and I really don’t mean to seem creepy—”

            Jeonghan shakes his head.

            Mingyu just smiles. “But I was wondering if I could get your number.”

            Jeonghan blanks for a second. Is this GQ model of a man really asking him for his phone number? Holy… He’s _got_ to tell Seungcheol about this. He nods, probably a little too wide-eyed. “Yes. Yes, that would be fine.”

            Mingyu sighs like he’s relieved, but it seems feigned. Jeonghan smiles at it. “Thank god,” Mingyu says. “I was so nervous you’d be weirded out by me coming up to you randomly.” He pulls out his phone from a pair of brand jeans that Jeonghan recognizes from stores he can only walk around in.

            Jeonghan accepts the phone gladly. “You don’t seem as nervous as me,” he says. He taps into Mingyu’s contacts and starts adding himself in when he feels Mingyu’s hand touch his back. He accidentally gasps a little as Mingyu gently pushes him, moving them out of the middle of the sidewalk for a group of women to pass by. Mingyu’s hand seems to burn an impression into Jeonghan’s skin.

            Mingyu is closer to him now, his hand still there. “To tell you the truth,” he says. He leans a little closer to Jeonghan’s ear, and his hand slips down to his lower back, broad and splayed to cover a good two thirds of the space there. Jeonghan stares, frozen, down at Mingyu’s phone screen as Mingyu says low, “I’m usually no good at talking to people on the street, but I couldn’t miss my chance at you.”

            Jeonghan shivers and says quietly, “Really? I…you seem like you…” He forgets the rest of the words.

            Mingyu hums and leans away from him, his hand lingering before sliding away from his shirt. “Really. Who wouldn’t be a little scared to talk to you?”

            Jeonghan blinks and finishes putting his number in, checking it to make sure it’s right because he thinks he’ll really hate himself if it turns out he put a three instead of a four and then he’ll never get to look at this product of the genetic lottery again. Mingyu takes his phone back with that easy, hardly nervous at all smile. Jeonghan clears his throat and says, “Oh, uh.” He adjusts his glasses on his nose.

            Mingyu laughs softly and says, “Cute.”

            Jeonghan looks up at him again. “What?”

            “Your glasses. I like them.”

            “Oh.” He fixes them again by accident and smiles. “Thank you.”

            Mingyu tilts his head a little, watching his face. “Mhm. Thank you again, Jeonghan. Can I call you soon?”

            Jeonghan thinks, _How about we skip the call and the dinner and just get on with what’s obvious?_ He clears his throat again and says, “Any time.”

            Mingyu laughs again and nods. “Great. Have a good night, Jeonghan.”

            Jeonghan nods, and Mingyu turns to go, putting his hands coolly in his pockets and walking away into the city.

            Jeonghan lets out a huge breath and starts walking way too fast down the sidewalk the other way. He struggles his phone out of his pocket and taps Seungcheol’s name.

            Almost immediately, “Everything good, Han?”

            “Seungcheol, you are _not_ going to believe this.”

 

**_July 2_ **

Jeonghan sips his iced coffee, watching the people go by. “Too many students in this city,” he says. “Look—there’s a whole pack of them right there.” He points.

            Mingyu laughs next to him. “Weren’t you a student once?”

            Jeonghan shrugs, feeling the presence of Mingyu’s arm around the back of the bench, his hand brushing Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Yeah. But I’m over it.”

            Mingyu chuckles and nods. “Me too. Foreigner at three o’clock.”

            Jeonghan looks over to see a tall, pale, blonde woman walking up the block. “Teacher?” he guesses.

            “Maybe,” Mingyu says. “Could be a businesswoman on her day off.”

            Jeonghan nods, liking the critical thinking. “True.” He squints into the sun, watching her cross the street. “She looks European, doesn’t she? Swedish, maybe. Or Austrian. I bet she danced as a child. Maybe she’s one now.”

            Mingyu looks over at him. “Yeah? Why?”

            Jeonghan hums against his straw. “She looks like one. She’s thin and lithe and looks flexible and light on her feet. Don’t you think?”

            “Like your body, you mean?”

            Jeonghan looks at him, blinking. Mingyu has been easily throwing indirect compliments like that all day, from the walk in Hongdae to the coffee shop to now. They slip from his tongue so flawlessly it’s like he had them planned. But how could he when Jeonghan says something like that by chance?

            But Jeonghan isn’t exactly unfamiliar with being treated like this. Seungcheol has a joke name for him that he uses once in a while—the desired one; “The one nobody can get,” he says. But he’s not wrong—even the straight guys, the married guys, all the guys (because the women are smarter than that) around the office look at Jeonghan from time to time. Everyone always so nice— _Do you want some coffee, Jeonghan?_ _I’ll take that extra article and you can go early if you want, you know, since it’s Friday and all._ Sometimes Jeonghan thinks the only guy who never said or tried anything like that _is_ Seungcheol, and that’s just because they’ve been close since grade school.

            Mingyu is the same, but different. Those other guys don’t know what they’re doing. But Mingyu is smooth, very suave, and probably way too handsome. It strikes Jeonghan as red flags, but when Mingyu giggles or does that beautiful eye smile where the corners crinkle up and his canines show and…how could Jeonghan not be as totally infatuated as he is? Mingyu is a nice guy, and he always has something to say in response to Jeonghan instead of a boring one-sided conversation, and he’s obviously intelligent. In total, it’s been a great first date, and Jeonghan is not complaining.

            “Me?” he says, looking down at his legs in his jeans. “I don’t think I can dance.”

            “Are you flexible?” Mingyu asks.

            Jeonghan also likes that little smug smile Mingyu does. He likes the way it travels down into his center and makes him want things. He tries to keep from blushing up on his cheekbones (which Mingyu has already complimented), and looks back out at the street, suppressing a grin. “Somewhat.”

            Mingyu smiles and tends to his coffee.

            After a moment, a man in a tailored blue suit makes his way past them. “Oh,” Jeonghan snaps his fingers. “I meant to ask—where do you work?”

            “You ask because of Mr. Armani over there?” Mingyu says, tilting his head at the guy.

            Jeonghan’s mouth opens. Did it sound like he’s asking because of _that_? It’s not like he didn’t notice Mingyu’s expensive clothing and his perfect hair and the fact that he’s wearing a gold watch today instead of the silver one he was wearing when they met and that they’re both likely a million plus each. He noticed, and he can’t say he isn’t impressed, but he doesn’t care about it like that. He waves his hand out. “No, I—I just—”

            Mingyu chuckles. “I’m just messing with you. I work with Shinhan.”

            Jeonghan’s eyebrows go up. Okay…Mingyu definitely isn’t struggling then. Shinhan is the top investment services company in the country. He’s not hearing wrong, right? “Financial?” he asks.

            Mingyu nods.

            Jeonghan pauses, then laughs. “Wow. I…didn’t expect quite that. I knew you—I mean…that’s great.”

            “An attractive quality, I suppose,” Mingyu says, smiling.

            Jeonghan shakes his head fast. “No, I don’t mean it that way. I’m not like that. For god’s sake, I only work at Jungang Ilbo.”

            Mingyu lifts an eyebrow. “You mean one of the three largest newspaper publishers in the city? Or is it the country?”

            Jeonghan clicks his tongue and pushes him lightly. “Ah. It’s nothing like Shinhan. I would only have been more impressed by, like, Samsung. Besides, I’m not exactly in a high position. Talk to my boss for that one. You’re probably the CEO or something.”

            Mingyu laughs out loud, head tilting back, skin golden in the sunlight. For some reason, Jeonghan can’t really think of anything much more attractive. Mingyu shakes his head again. “No, no way. I wouldn’t be here right now if I was—probably stuck in an office or at a meeting. I’m a finance executive.”

            As if that isn’t enough. Jeonghan asks, “Would you add ‘senior’ in front of that title?”

            Mingyu bites his lip, looking into Jeonghan’s eyes. “Maybe.”

            Jeonghan tisks and looks away into the distance. “And you’re younger than me. You’re too much, Kim Mingyu.”

            “Really? I feel as though I’m not enough for you.”

            Jeonghan stares at him. There’s another one of those easy statements. Jeonghan knows he should be more skeptical, but he can’t deny how they make him feel. He says, “You like me, don’t you.”

            Mingyu’s eyebrows lift a little. “What makes you think that?”

            Jeonghan shrugs nonchalantly. His voice is a little quieter. “I don’t know. Maybe all those things you say. How smooth you are,” he says, poking Mingyu’s arm. “And maybe I’m crazy, but it looks like you wouldn’t mind kissing me if I asked.”

            In the brief moment that Jeonghan is waiting for Mingyu to say, _There’s only one way to find out,_ Mingyu says instead, “You don’t have to ask me,” and his hand comes to Jeonghan’s face and pulls him in.

            Jeonghan knows this is fast. He’s aware that it usually takes weeks or months for couples to get close like this. But he’s also aware that he and Mingyu have different tastes from those couples, and that there’s a tension between them and they both have a preference for how to break it. Mingyu is being gentlemanly enough by having waited this long to kiss him, and by likely waiting longer for more.

            Besides, Jeonghan is the one who said something. And Mingyu is a _very_ good kisser.

            Mingyu pulls away, and Jeonghan looks into his face for a second, and then they both lean back to their proper seats. Mingyu’s arm makes its way off the bench back and down onto Jeonghan’s shoulders, and Jeonghan moves closer on the seat. They both sip their drinks at the same time, and Jeonghan can’t help but laugh.

            Mingyu smiles into the sun, motions in front of them and says, “Now, tell me why that couple is holding hands but walking thirty centimeters apart.”

 

**_July 12_ **

The knock comes to Jeonghan’s door around five o’clock. He figures himself saved from trying to put his contacts in, puts down the case of them, and grabs his glasses instead, walking out to the door. He throws it open and grins at Seungcheol, standing there dressed in his usual off-work street casual with his hands held behind his back.

            Seungcheol grins back and says, “The pink shirt! How do you always look so good in things three sizes too big for you?”

            Jeonghan laughs and looks down at himself, shrugging. “It’s comfortable. You should try oversized some time. What are you hiding from me?” He puts a hand on his hip.

            Seungcheol looks off to the side. “Oh, just something I thought you might like…” He brings his hands out and makes a flashy show of two little paper tickets.

            Jeonghan does a dramatic gasp. He grabs them from Seungcheol’s hands and looks at them. “Seungcheol, you shouldn’t have! Seoul Sky!”

            Seungcheol rocks innocently on his feet. “World’s third highest observation deck, right? Do you like—”

            Jeonghan squeals and hugs him tight. “I love it. Of course I love it. For tonight?”

            “Right after dinner.”

            Jeonghan wiggles against his body. “I’m so excited!”

            Seungcheol laughs and hugs him gently. “Are you allowed to hug me now?”

            Jeonghan leans back and clicks his tongue, pouting at him. “Ah, don’t say that. He’s not that kind of guy.”

            Seungcheol just smiles and nods. “I’m sure. Are you ever going to introduce me?” He puts his elbow out and Jeonghan takes his arm, letting the door close behind them as they start toward the elevator of Jeonghan’s apartment building.

            Jeonghan smiles and says, “Very soon. I’ll let you know after we meet tomorrow night.”

            Seungcheol presses the elevator button and raises his eyebrows at him. “Oh? Have you planned something specific?”

            Jeonghan just looks up at the floor counter, holding back a big grin. “Nothing in particular. I figure we’ll probably just…let things happen on their own.”

            Seungcheol chuckles. “Whatever you say, Hannie. I can tell you really like him. It seems fast, no?”

            Jeonghan looks at him flatly. “It’s our sixth date, Seungcheol. I think that means I’m actually running late on sex, doesn’t it? How is it in America? Third date, right?”

            Seungcheol looks into his eyes for a second, then shakes his head. “All right. Just be careful, Jeonghan. With a guy like him. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

            Jeonghan squeezes Seungcheol’s arm and leans his head on his shoulder. The elevator opens, and they go in, facing the doors. “I’m a big boy, Seungcheol,” he says, pressing the button for ground floor. “I think I know what I’m getting myself into.”

            The elevator doors close.

 

**_July 13_ **

Mingyu is on him again as soon as their shoes are off and the door to his apartment closes. Jeonghan’s back hits the door and Mingyu presses up to him, tasting of sweet champagne as he kisses him heavily.

            Jeonghan tilts his chin up and lets Mingyu mark his neck, smiling at the ceiling. “This place is beautiful,” he says in a breath.

            Mingyu twists the lock on his door. He leaves red on Jeonghan’s neck and leans back to look into his eyes. “Thanks.” His hands find Jeonghan’s waist, pulling Jeonghan roughly against him.

            Jeonghan yelps softly and grabs at the sides of Mingyu’s shirt, untucking it halfway by accident. “I guess you’ll show me around tomorrow,” he says.

            Mingyu smiles darkly and picks Jeonghan up in one quick motion, and Jeonghan wraps tight around him. Mingyu brings his mouth close to Jeonghan’s and says, “Tomorrow is a long way off.” He kisses Jeonghan again, biting his lip, and he starts walking.

            Jeonghan wants to say something perfect like that, like the things Mingyu always says, but nothing comes to him and he shakes his head while Mingyu gazes up at him. He says, “I don’t know what to say, Mingyu. Just…I want…”

            Mingyu smiles at him again, not answering.

            Eventually Jeonghan is dropped down, and Mingyu climbs up onto his bed while Jeonghan stares at him from the pillows. Mingyu eyes him like he’s prey, his gaze lingering over the place where the neck of Jeonghan’s button-up has slipped off one shoulder, exposing his collarbone and the bruises Mingyu has already left. Mingyu comes close, placing a hand on Jeonghan’s thigh, sliding it up to his waist and dipping it just under his shirt to touch skin before removing it again.

            Jeonghan bites down on his lip. “Mingyu.”

            Mingyu gets on his knees and takes off his shirt.

            Jeonghan stares at him, at his shoulders and his chest and his _skin_ , his gorgeous caramel skin. He shakes his head again. “Oh god.”

            Mingyu leans down and kisses him very softly, and Jeonghan’s heart does a weird thing behind his ribs. Mingyu’s hand is soft on Jeonghan’s face, his kisses light and genuine. They continue to be so as the hand moves down to Jeonghan’s jeans and pops the button easily. Mingyu drags the zipper down and hooks his hand into the waistband and says against Jeonghan’s lips, “I want you so terribly, Jeonghan.”

            Jeonghan shivers like Mingyu always makes him. He starts it for Mingyu, pushing his jeans and his underwear off his own hips. Whispering, he says, “Then have me.”

            Mingyu does that smile and moves back, getting Jeonghan’s clothes off his lower half. He comes back and lets his fingertips skate along Jeonghan’s thighs. “What was it you wanted?”

            Already breathless, and so ready to get on with this, Jeonghan says, “I’d like you to fuck me.”

            Mingyu smirks. “Have patience, Jeonghan. Why don’t we take it nice and slow?”

            And then Mingyu is pushing his thighs apart and his knees up and burying his face between Jeonghan’s legs.

            Jeonghan gasps. His hands latch onto Mingyu’s hair, and his head falls back onto the pillows.

 

Mingyu’s fingers run softly through his hair. Jeonghan smiles against Mingyu’s gorgeous skin, resting against his chest.

            “Say something,” Mingyu whispers.

            Jeonghan laughs quietly, tracing his hand over Mingyu’s toned stomach. “I don’t know what to say. You…you were…” He just closes his eyes.

            Mingyu kisses his head. “All right, then?”

            Jeonghan barely shakes his head. “Incredible.”

            Mingyu hums and keeps playing with his hair. “Me too, Jeonghan. You make me feel…” He pauses and then says, “Very light.”

            Jeonghan blinks and looks up at him, resting his chin on Mingyu’s chest. “Don’t say that.”

            Mingyu smiles. “Why not?”

            “Because it’s not fair for you to say everything right and do that to me and be perfect all at the same time.”

            Mingyu laughs softly. “It’s true, though. I didn’t know what to expect when I first went up to you but I couldn’t be any happier that I did.”

            Jeonghan sighs, closing his eyes again, wrapping his hand around Mingyu’s chest as if to hold him closer. “Enough.”

            There’s silence for a moment.

            Then Mingyu says, “Maybe you made me this way.”

            Jeonghan doesn’t answer. What is there to say?

            “And…it’s never been like that with anyone else,” Mingyu says, brushing Jeonghan’s slightly damp hair from his face. “You’re the incredible one, Hannie.”

            Jeonghan opens his eyes again when Mingyu calls him that. He pauses for a moment, then pushes up onto his elbows to look into Mingyu’s face. He waits, letting Mingyu gaze into his eyes. “I have to introduce you to my friend,” he says. Mingyu smiles and nods, and Jeonghan leans down to meet his lips.

 

**_October 28_ **

_Jeonghan: Are you still coming babe?_

            He hits send on the message, looking at the time on his phone. Mingyu said he’d be off work and over to the apartment for date night by 6:30. Is Jeonghan too clingy to text him at 6:38? Well, if Mingyu thought he was too clingy, they probably wouldn’t be celebrating their four month today. Not that they’ve said that—Jeonghan is waiting to see if Mingyu remembers. And since Mingyu has been all around perfect for four months straight, Jeonghan might be expecting a surprise when Mingyu gets home late. He figures he can give Mingyu a little leeway for that.

            His phone dings.

            _Gyu <3: sorry baby, I’m just running a little late. I’ll be home by 7, promise_

Jeonghan smiles and shakes his head. Mingyu has probably had something planned for a week already, and it’s probably way better than what Jeonghan got for him. But Jeonghan has a thing for gifting watches—he gave Seungcheol a black leather one with a pearl-white face two years ago for his birthday; Seungcheol wears it every single day, never taking it off except for exercising, showering, and sleeping. Jeonghan figures since Mingyu has a few that he switches out, he wouldn’t mind another one from him.

            _Jeonghan: it’s all right. see you soon :)_

He sets his phone down, but it dings again a moment later. Expecting a return smile, he picks it up and reads

            _Cheol^^: I think twelve years beats four months, don’t you??_

Jeonghan laughs and says a quiet, “Ahh…”

            _Jeonghan: one up him why don’t you?_

_Cheol^^: I think that’s actually uh_

_Cheol^^: how many months in 11 years plus 8 months?_

_Cheol^^: like a hundred up_

Jeonghan laughs again, turning and lying back on his sofa, crossing his legs. He looks over at the gift box he has for Mingyu on the coffee table, then answers

            _Jeonghan: 140 actually_

_Cheol^^: well damn_

_Cheol^^: I think I win_

_Cheol^^: I’m just kidding, Hannie. Happy anniversary :) I bet he’ll love your gift_

Jeonghan smiles and glances at the time again. 6:42.

            _Jeonghan: thank you :) whenever he gets here anyway. he’s running late. maybe I’ll set up our dinner and stuff_

_Cheol^^: okay, Han. See you tomorrow_

_Cheol^^: and have fun with your ~stuff~_

Jeonghan rolls his eyes and puts his phone down on his stomach. He waits there for a second, looking at the grey box on the coffee table, then gets up to go to the dining room.

 

Mingyu gets home at 7:15, but Jeonghan doesn’t really notice. He stands leaning against the table as Mingyu walks in, closing the door behind him and taking off his jacket.

            “I am so sorry I’m late,” Mingyu says, taking his shoes off with his hands— _So I don’t scuff the heels,_ he said before.

            Jeonghan smiles at him, watching him straighten his shoes perfectly perpendicular with the wall. “It’s okay. Luckily I have dinner pretty much fresh anyway.”

            Mingyu stands up and turns to him, flawless smile on his lips. “Really,” he says. He walks over to Jeonghan, eyes wandering over the spread of food Jeonghan has out for them. “I’m not terribly hungry but it smells delicious.” He takes Jeonghan’s arms and kisses him. “Thank you, baby. What’s the occasion?” he asks.

            Jeonghan holds back a smile, trying to see if Mingyu is hiding the present on him or if it’s something he can’t readily touch. He doesn’t know if he can play back, though—he’s too excited. Only sort of by accident he says, “Happy four month anniversary, Mingyu. Triannual, if you want to sound cool.” He smiles widely.

            Mingyu’s mouth opens, and his hands move down to Jeonghan’s waist, squeezing gently. “Oh—Hannie, you didn’t have to do all this. I…I didn’t know…” He shakes his head.

            Jeonghan shifts on his feet, but maintains his smile. He blinks up at Mingyu’s sorry eyebrows and says, “No, it’s—I was happy to. It’s fine.”

            Mingyu kisses him again. “I’m sorry. I guess I forgot.”

            Jeonghan just smiles and shakes his head. In hindsight, it was silly of him to expect, anyway. “No, don’t even worry about it. It’s not like it’s a real anniversary anyway. Just a special occasion, I suppose. And…” He reaches behind his back and pulls out the grey box, holding it up in two hands for Mingyu. “An excuse to get you something.”

            Mingyu’s brows go up and he takes the box. “Hannie—I can’t accept this when I didn’t even get you anything.”

            Jeonghan shrugs. “Really, it’s fine. And you have to open it because I’m pretty sure it’s perfect for you.”

            Mingyu looks at him and smiles sheepishly, canines contradicting the character. “I…thank you, Jeonghan. Should I open it now?”

            Jeonghan forces a laugh and waves his hand at him. “Yes yes, hurry up before the food gets cold.”

            Mingyu laughs and starts undoing the tie on the box.

            “What kept you so late?” Jeonghan asks.

            Mingyu lifts the lid of the box, and his mouth opens again in a soft gasp. “Oh my god. Hannie, this is so cool.” He lifts out the watch Jeonghan got for him, soft grey leather and silver plating, holding it in his palm. “You really didn’t have to do this, baby.”

            Jeonghan smiles a little more, glad that Mingyu likes it, though he knew he would. “I just thought you might like it.”

            Mingyu nods sincerely. “I do. It’s really great. I don’t have any like it. Thank you so much.” He puts the box down on the table and kisses Jeonghan a few more times, slower, then once on his nose. Then he looks at him, biting his lip, and says, “God, now I feel like an idiot for forgetting.”

            Jeonghan giggles, and it’s real this time. “It’s really not a big deal. There’s no rulebook that says four months is a thing. Maybe I’m just too romantic.”

            Mingyu smiles and tilts his head. “Maybe.” He puts the watch down and grabs Jeonghan’s waist again, hoisting him onto the table. He steps close and puts his hands on Jeonghan’s thighs. “How about we go out tomorrow, hm? To make it up to you.”

            Jeonghan looks up at him, just a few centimeters away. He wonders how even when Mingyu isn’t perfect, he still manages to make up for it with something equally as perfect. “Okay. Where?”

            Mingyu says softly, “Anywhere you’d like, baby. How about the observation deck? The new one. Have you been?”

            Jeonghan smiles, remembering. “Only once. I had an amazing time.”

            Mingyu slides his hands along his thighs. “Maybe we can have an even more amazing time together.”

            Jeonghan brings his hands to Mingyu’s jaw and kisses him for a long time.

            Mingyu tugs gently on his lip with his teeth, pausing for a moment before breathing out, “God, I love kissing you.” He pulls at Jeonghan’s thighs, and Jeonghan wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him deeper.

 

**_Christmas Eve, 9:30 a.m._ **

Jeonghan smiles to himself, finally getting the gold ribbon around Seungcheol’s last Christmas present to curl right. In total this year: an embossed black leather portfolio for his day planner he keeps on his desk, a black bag that’s a cross between a briefcase and a small duffel, and now a black thigh-length bomber jacket that Jeonghan saw in a window and immediately went in to get for him, even though it was one of those stores he can only walk around in. Black just fits Seungcheol so well. All these will go perfectly with that watch Jeonghan got for him.

            He’s setting the present aside with the other two when his phone dings on the coffee table.

            _Cheol^^: hey Hannie_

            Jeonghan smiles at it and picks it up to answer.

            _Jeonghan: hi what’s up?_

            _Cheol^^: well_

_Cheol^^: I don’t want to ruin your Christmas Eve but.._

            Jeonghan’s brows come together a little.

            _Jeonghan: what?_

            Seungcheol doesn’t answer him right away.

            _Jeonghan: what is it Seungcheol?_

            A photo appears on Jeonghan’s screen. He taps it and brings his phone closer to his face.

            There’s no denying it—even from behind, Jeonghan knows well enough by now that that’s Mingyu in the photo. Mingyu, and some other guy. Mingyu is leaning in close to the man’s ear, smiling while he whispers whatever it is, his hand splayed low on the man’s back. Exactly what he did to Jeonghan.

            Jeonghan looks at it for a while. His head shakes almost imperceptibly, and he says, “What…”

            _Cheol^^: I saw them_

_Cheol^^: two days ago_

_Cheol^^: they didn’t seem like strangers_

            Jeonghan reads the texts, looks at the photo for a few more seconds, and then puts his phone down on the table and gets up, going to his room to grab his computer. He comes back and sits on the couch. A new message on his phone says

            _Cheol^^: Jeonghan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what I should do. I should have told you sooner. In person. I’m really sorry_

            Jeonghan leaves it for a moment. He shoves open his laptop, tapping keys so it’ll wake up, and gets onto the internet as fast as he can. While his Facebook loads, he picks up his phone. He taps the microphone key and watches his laptop screen while he speaks into his phone, “Did you talk to him,” and hits send.

            Mingyu’s profile is not hard to find, and Jeonghan clicks into his friends list right away. He starts scrolling past faces that are both too familiar and not familiar at all. Another message:

            _Cheol^^: no. I thought I should leave it up to you. I haven’t said a word to anyone_

            Jeonghan is at least three hundred people down the list when he sees what he was looking for—platinum-dyed hair, purple tint. _Xu Minghao_. He clicks on the name.

            A profile that really belongs on Instagram shows up. It makes sense—apparently Xu Minghao is a professional photographer. His pictures are gorgeous, and Jeonghan wonders if he’s a model too as he scrolls past photos even better looking with Minghao in them. Jeonghan can’t tell if he’s jealous or just insanely pissed off. Probably both, definitely the latter. Looking at his face, Jeonghan can’t tell if Minghao is someone who would be with Mingyu when he knows Mingyu is with someone else or not. Who knows what Mingyu told him—maybe some bullshit about an open relationship. That, or Mingyu didn’t tell Minghao anything at all. Jeonghan will give Minghao the benefit of the doubt. Which means this all comes down to the fault of one person.

            He takes a deep, searing breath, and closes his laptop. He picks up his phone.

            _Jeonghan: thank you Seungcheol_

_Jeonghan: really_

_Cheol^^: I hope you’re okay Hannie_

_Jeonghan: is he still coming to the party tonight_

_Cheol^^: not if you don’t want him to_

_Jeonghan: no I do_

_Jeonghan: keep him_

_Jeonghan: I’ll deal with it_

_Cheol^^: okay. If you’re sure_

_Cheol^^: I’d pray for him if I didn’t actually want to see it_

            Jeonghan smiles at his screen, and though it feels wicked even to himself, he thinks how Seungcheol really can make him smile no matter what. He’s deciding what to say when Seungcheol sends

            _Cheol^^: I know it’s shitty timing but I have to go. I’ll see you later, Hannie. I can’t wait actually_

            Jeonghan imagines that soft laugh Seungcheol always does.

            _Cheol^^: and I’m sorry again_

_Jeonghan: the only one who should be sorry is him_

            He pauses and adds

            _Jeonghan: see you tonight. love you_

_Cheol^^: Love you, Jeonghan_

            Jeonghan puts his phone down and looks at his closed computer. He’s livid. He thinks about Mingyu, him seeing Minghao and thinking, _Sure, why not,_ and taking whatever he wanted without giving Jeonghan a second thought. Jeonghan realizes he’s been being played this whole time—he doesn’t know how long it’s been that Mingyu has been cheating on him, but he does know that Mingyu gets very friendly very fast. It doesn’t need to have been long. Any more than a week and Mingyu has almost certainly cleared any last blurred line between the clean side and the unfaithful side of his new relationship.

            Livid, jealous, and so, _so_ embarrassed. Embarrassed that Mingyu did this to him, embarrassed that he didn’t see it in Mingyu, and most embarrassed that Seungcheol his boss and his best friend and the person he loves more than anyone had to know this about him before he did.

            Mingyu has just ruined his Christmas Eve.

            His phone dings again, and Jeonghan looks over at it. That pink heart next to his name. How silly it seems now.

            _Gyu <3: morning baby. I can’t wait to see you at the party tonight ;)_

            Jeonghan stares at it. He types

            _Jeonghan: Me either. I think it’s going to be a great time._

 

…

 

**_Christmas Eve, 6:00 p.m._ **

Everyone looks over at the accused.

            Mingyu shifts on his feet and says, “Jeonghan—”

            “Real shitty what you did to me, Mingyu. During the holidays of all fucking times.” Jeonghan steps into the main office, closing the door behind him. He scans the room briefly—his friends and coworkers all looking at each other wondering what’s going on, who’s the guilty party, or if Jeonghan just went crazy. Jeonghan almost laughs at that, because maybe he did, starting six months ago.

            “What’s going on,” Seungcheol says, but it’s calm. Jeonghan looks over at him, and when they meet eyes, the corner of Seungcheol’s lips curves just the tiniest bit.

            “What’s wrong, baby?” Mingyu says, taking a few steps toward him until they’re both close to the middle of the room.

            Jeonghan looks away from Seungcheol to glare at Mingyu. “As if you don’t know. I found him on your fucking Facebook, Mingyu. How stupid can you get?”

            Mingyu looks like he can’t figure out what to say—he’s just as surprised as everyone else in the room. And now they’re all looking at Mingyu, too. He glances around, and then he puts on that pretty, partially concerned, completely knowing, utterly empty, perfect smile that Jeonghan saw when he first met him. “What are you talking about, Hannie? Is everything okay?”

            Jeonghan feels his neck heating up. He realizes now how condescending Mingyu’s voice can be. “We even fucking look the same, the way our bodies are. Do you like us smaller than you? Does it make it easier to turn us into toys?”

            Mingyu’s eyes squint a little at the corners, and it isn’t his smile that’s doing it. “I don’t think this is a good place for this, do you, babe?”

            Off to the side, Jeonghan hears Chan, the new intern, whisper to Soonyoung, “What’s happening?”

            Jeonghan squints back at Mingyu and says, “And I don’t think the restaurant two blocks away from this office is a good place for you to meet the guy you’re cheating on me with.”

            The room is quiet. Over by the drink table, Jihoon puts a hand to his eyes.

            Mingyu just looks at Jeonghan for a moment, and then he says, “I don’t think—”

            “No, clearly you don’t,” Jeonghan says. “You don’t think about anyone but yourself. Did you expect me to never find out?”

            Mingyu says nothing. He just looks around.

            “What were you going to do with me when you were done with me? Just throw me away? Is that what you’ll do to him, too? Why don’t you just—”

            He cuts off when Mingyu suddenly puts his drink down and grabs his arm and starts pulling him, and Jeonghan is yelling expletives, and then they’re out of sight down the hall.

            Seungcheol watches them go. He takes another sip of his drink.

            “Good lord,” Jihoon says.

            “Should someone follow them?” Junhui asks.

            Seungcheol just shakes his head.

            Chan tentatively raises his hand, a worried look on his face. “Were they dating?”

            Seungcheol smiles. “I think ‘were’ is the perfect word, Chan. Anyone want another drink?”

 

Jeonghan shakes his arm free from Mingyu’s grasp. “Hey—what do you think—”

            Mingyu pushes him around a corner and turns and frowns at him, speaking in a harsh whisper. “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

            Jeonghan scoffs and crosses his arms. “I’ve thought that for a while now.”

            “Come off it, Jeonghan.”

            Jeonghan’s eyes widen, and he brings a hand to his chest. “ _Me?_ Me come off it? That’s a real fine fucking high horse you’re on, Mingyu, I’m impressed. How do you kid yourself? Do you have any conscience?”

            Mingyu rolls his eyes and turns sideways. “This is ridiculous.”

            “You know what’s ridiculous?” He thrusts an arm out, pointing anywhere, leaning towards Mingyu. “You _fucking another guy_ while you’re still with me. Say you did it. I want to hear it from your mouth.”

            Mingyu just looks away, shaking his head, lips pressed together in that way that Jeonghan used to think was extremely cute. Now it just seems extremely annoying.

            “Fucking asshole,” Jeonghan says. “I saw a _photo_ of you with him from _two fucking days ago_. What’s wrong with you, coward. Say it. Say you fucked him.”

            Mingyu turns back to him, throwing his arms out. “Fine, yes! Are you happy?”

            Jeonghan grimaces and shakes his head. “Fucking should be now that I’ll be rid of you.”

            “Oh, come on, Han. Are you really going to be like that?”

            Jeonghan glares at him. What an idiotic question. “Don’t fucking call me Han or Hannie or baby or Jeonghan or fucking anything. This is so far gone I can’t even fucking see you anymore. You know what? I’m _glad_ this happened. You—”

            Mingyu grabs his arm and starts dragging him deeper into the office building.

            Jeonghan stumbles after him, pulling back to no avail. He used to feel a lot of different things about the fact that Mingyu is bigger and stronger than him. Good things. Not anymore. He shouts, “Don’t touch me.”

            “It sounded like someone was coming,” Mingyu hisses. He opens another door and pulls Jeonghan through into a big office marked in gold letters: CHOI SEUNGCHEOL.

            “Oh, do you have a reputation to uphold now? I can’t believe you’re touching me— _this is my best friend’s office_.”

            Mingyu closes the door behind them and turns again to frown at Jeonghan. “Would you rather he heard us hashing it out instead? We can go back out to the party if you want.”

            “He’s my boss!”

            “Why don’t you shut up then so he won’t hear you being so bitchy!”

            Jeonghan narrows his eyes at him. “You’re such a fucking trip. I can’t believe I ever dated you. I can’t believe I let you fuck me.”

            “It was good, wasn’t it?”

            A look of disgust paints Jeonghan’s features, and then he closes his eyes and turns away, bringing his hands to his face. “Oh my god. What is wrong with me? I actually thought I might have been falling in love with you!”

            Mingyu seems to pause behind him. After a second of silence, Jeonghan can hear that little change in Mingyu’s voice. Now he at least knows it’s probably fake. Mingyu asks, “You were?”

            Jeonghan spins around to glare at him. “Not the fucking time, Mingyu. No—not the fucking—you’re so—Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t believe this.” He sighs and shakes his head again. “How did I not see it?”

            Mingyu says nothing. He only looks at Jeonghan, hands hanging limp by his sides.

            Jeonghan feels his blood cooling to maybe just a simmer now. He takes a breath and says, “How long?”

            Mingyu runs his tongue over his lips. “Do you really want to—”

            “Just fucking tell me, Mingyu. You owe me that much.”

            Mingyu sighs and looks down. Eventually he puts a hand on his hip and says, “Two months.”

            It hits Jeonghan in the ribs. “ _Two months?_ That’s a third of our whole relationship!”

            Mingyu shakes his head, running the other hand through his perfectly styled hair. “I know.”

            “No, you—” Jeonghan starts, then cuts off. He thinks for a second, about Mingyu, about that amount of time ago. His eyes squint behind his glasses again. “You…you couldn’t have.”

            Mingyu’s brow furrows. “What?”

            Jeonghan points at him, hand by his side. “Two months ago…for our four month, I gave you a watch. A grey and silver watch. You hardly every wore it—no surprise. Especially since…”

            Mingyu seems to get it. He pales, just a little bit. “Jeonghan…”

            Jeonghan’s eyes widen again. “I can’t fucking believe you. You were late that day because you were with _him_. _What the fuck_. Did you meet him for the first time _that day_?”

            Mingyu shakes his head slowly, mouth open. “I…”

            “You fucking did! Oh my god!” He turns around and takes a few steps, putting his hands up to his head. “How stupid could I have been?”

            “You’re not stupid, Jeonghan—”

            He whips back around. “You’re an _ass,_ Mingyu. A lying disgusting piece of… _nothing_.”

            Mingyu shakes his head again, eyes on the floor. “I know. I’m…there’s nothing I can say.”

            Jeonghan takes a second to glare at Mingyu, relishing the way he’s hanging his head. Jeonghan isn’t the only one who’s going to break from this.

            But then his anger starts to trickle away, and the deep blue of the situation starts seeping in. He finally draws in a breath and says, “No. There isn’t. Now tell me why.”

            Mingyu looks up at him. “Why what?”

            “Why you fucking cheated, Mingyu.”

            Mingyu just lifts his hands as if even he doesn’t know. “I don’t know, I…I just liked him.”

            Jeonghan barks a laugh. “Oh, you liked him. How adorable.”

            “Is that so wrong of me?”

            “No, Mingyu, you fucking around is what’s wrong.” He rubs his face, wondering what exactly he did to make this happen to him. All those days and nights with Mingyu—all the time spent, all the time wasted. Did it really mean that little to him? Did Jeonghan really mean that little? “Did I do something?” Jeonghan asks.

            Mingyu shakes his head immediately. “No. No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Everything was fine. It was great.”

            Jeonghan lifts his hands to his sides. “Then what? Why?”

            Mingyu looks into his eyes and says, “Because I’m an idiot.”

            Jeonghan stops, and lets his hands drop. _Now_ it really hits him. Mingyu cheated on him. Mingyu who he adored, who he had real feelings for, who he saw something with, slept with someone else after telling Jeonghan that they were exclusively their own, together. But…Mingyu didn’t say that. He never told Jeonghan they were exclusive, never said anything about one and only. Maybe that was Mingyu’s way out. Maybe lying by omission was Mingyu’s way of cutting past a guilt trip. Maybe Jeonghan was the idiot all along.

            He should have listened to himself when this all began. Himself, Seungcheol, everyone.

            He can’t help how sad it sounds when he says, “Yeah. You are.”

            Mingyu sighs again. He puts a gentle hand out and says, “I liked you too, you know. I still like you just as much as I did when I first met you. More.”

            Jeonghan shakes his head. “Please. Save it.”

            “You were beautiful.”

            “Don’t give me fucking song lyrics, Mingyu. Nothing you can say will change a thing.”

            Mingyu gives up. There’s a long pause, and Jeonghan doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now. Should he just walk out? Should he explain to Mingyu how this is going to end, with the two of them going their separate ways forever? How is someone supposed to deal with this?

            Mingyu speaks first. “Han.”

            Jeonghan looks at him.

            Mingyu glances up. “Mistletoe. Cute, huh?”

            Jeonghan follows his gaze to the center of the ceiling between them. The mistletoe hangs there, too green and too red. He frowns and steps forward, going up on one foot, tiptoed, and reaching with one arm to grab it.

            “You’re like a ballerina, Jeonghan,” Mingyu says. “You always did remind me of a dancer.”

            Jeonghan glances at him, sending his feelings in his gaze. He takes hold of the mistletoe by a vine and tears it down, forgetting this is Seungcheol’s office. “And you’re a parasite. Like this.” He shoves the mistletoe at Mingyu and then throws it aside. “We’re not cute. We’re done.”

            Mingyu smiles a little bit, sadly, and the corners of his eyes do that pretty catlike thing that Jeonghan doesn’t really care to see right now. “You’re still cute,” Mingyu says. “I know I fucked up but—”

            “Yeah you did.”

            “But you’re still probably the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever been with.”

            Jeonghan stares at him. It doesn’t feel as good anymore when he says, “Fuck off.”

            Mingyu shrugs one shoulder. “I am sorry. I know you’re not taking me back—”

            “Never.”

            “But I mean it. I’m sorry.”

            Jeonghan squeezes his eyes shut briefly. “Just shut up, Mingyu. What’s the point? Your face says otherwise, anyway.”

            Mingyu shrugs again, gazing at more than just Jeonghan’s face. “I guess that’s just the way I am. Around you.”

            Jeonghan shakes his head fast, small, convincing himself of something. “You’re so annoying.”

            “You too. Annoying and beautiful.”

            “Stop.”

            “Can’t help myself.”

            “Get over yourself.”

            “Don’t you remember us?”

            Jeonghan stops again, and though he doesn’t want to, he thinks about it. Of course he remembers. It was just yesterday—no, just this morning that he thought he and Mingyu were closer than ever, happier than ever. He thought he’d be meeting Mingyu at this party and he would walk through the door and Mingyu would leave whatever conversation he was having to come to him and take his arms and say _Wow. You look great tonight. Merry Christmas Eve, Hannie._ And they would drink and talk to their friends and Seungcheol might say _You’ve really caught a good one_ to Mingyu like he says sometimes, and later they’d find a mistletoe like this one and they would kiss for a long time until it was time to go home and wake up next to each other on Christmas morning like all those perfect magical love stories.

            _Now I’ll wake up alone, with no one next to me at all,_ Jeonghan thinks. Why couldn’t it have just been perfect?

            He shifts on his feet and says, “I don’t want to.”

            Jeonghan watches Mingyu’s lips twitch up on the corner like they always did when Jeonghan said something that Mingyu thought was funny. Is this funny to him?

            Mingyu says, “Liar.”

            Jeonghan stares at him, then shakes his head, crossing his arms. “I can’t believe you’re even bringing that up.”

            “This is us, isn’t it?”

            “There _is_ no us, Mingyu.”

            “I know. But come on.” Mingyu’s voice gets softer, sounding reminiscent. “Don’t you remember? God, even our first night together.”

            All of it flashes in Jeonghan’s mind—the champagne, the kisses, the incredible sex. He tries to shove it away. “Shut up.”

            “Before your hair was blonde,” Mingyu says. “The way those dark strands fell across your face when you moaned.”

            Jeonghan can’t stop the blush. “Shut _up_.”

            “I couldn’t believe how good you were. We fucked how many times? Five? More? I can’t remember. A hundred times since then, yeah?”

            “Just take your fucking jacket off.”

            In the pause, the air conditioner kicks on.

            Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

            Jeonghan blinks at him. What did he just say? Why did he say that? This is all Mingyu’s fault. If he hadn’t brought those things up, Jeonghan wouldn’t have said that. He wouldn’t be feeling this way. If Mingyu had never cheated on him, none of this would be happening at all. They could have come to this party and had their fun and left and then maybe this situation would be happening at home, but different—the way it _should_ be happening, like all those countless times they were together when Jeonghan was ignorant and Mingyu was still a fairytale.

            Such momentary nostalgia has never pained Jeonghan so much as right now.

            Can he take back what he said? He wants to, so badly. But he wants even more for this to all be a nightmare and for him to wake up to Mingyu’s handsome face next to him, eyes closed, lips pink and pretty and pouted out in his sleep like they do, and for Mingyu to slowly breathe in and blink his eyes open and say _What’s wrong, Hannie?_ because Mingyu always knew just how he was feeling. And he would say nothing, it’s nothing, just a bad dream, and Mingyu would kiss him and pull him close and the fairytale magical love story would go the way it’s supposed to go.

            But Jeonghan is no fool. This is real. This, what he said, what he’s feeling—the anger and the sadness and the emptiness and the feeling of already missing what he knows is slipping out of his grasp. All of it, including everything he still feels for Mingyu, because how could he get over what they had so quickly? All of it is real and weighing on him all at once.

            How could he want what he said? But how could he take back the truth?

            Mingyu looks at him, head tilting slightly. “Hannie?”

            Jeonghan nods once to himself. “Stop being such an ass and take off your jacket.”

            Mingyu doesn’t move. The smug look is gone. “Jeonghan.”

            Jeonghan rolls his eyes again. “Honestly, what are we staging, Mingyu? Yes. It was incredible. Being with you was like a dream to me. And I did—I _did_ think that I might have been falling for you. After six months of knowing what I thought was you, it would be easy for me to be in love with you now.” He pauses and brushes his hair back from his eyes. “It’s going to take me a long time to get over this, but I’m going to do it whether you know it or not. It’ll be hard to forget seeing you for the first time in that low light and how completely stunning you looked and how you made me literally stop in my tracks, to forget the mornings with you, the movies and the dinner dates, the way you made me feel during and after the most amazing sex I’ve ever had. And I’m so mad at you, Mingyu. I’m so mad and I am _so_ disappointed. I wanted you to be perfect, I really did. I wanted it more than anything, for you to be my person, the perfect prince who would stand by me for life.” His voice breaks, and he swallows. “I was naïve and I was a fool. So I’m angry at you, but I’m even more upset with myself.”

            Mingyu’s lips part like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Eventually, “Jeonghan…”

            “Don’t. Neither of us can change anything. So let’s just stop pretending and get on with it. Why else are we alone in this office?”

            Mingyu touches his fingers together in front of him. “But…Jeonghan, are you s—”

            “Why are you even asking? I started it. So let’s go. One more time. Off with it.” He waves his hand at Mingyu’s body, thinking that he really must have gone insane after all.

            Mingyu visibly swallows. And then he brings his hands to his jacket and slips it off his shoulders. He keeps it right side in, then starts looking around for a place to put it.

            “The floor will do.”

            Jeonghan can see something like _This is a five hundred thousand won jacket_ getting ready to spill from Mingyu’s mouth, but he holds it back. He nods and drops the jacket on the ground.

            Jeonghan blinks at him. “Go on. We don’t have all night.”

            Mingyu presses his lips together again, but he does as Jeonghan says. He untucks his turtleneck and slips it over his head, messing up his hair. He brushes it down, then goes for his shoes, then his belt, his pants, everything. His clothes lie in a neat pile on the floor of Choi Seungcheol’s office.

            He takes a breath and says, “So—”

            “Now stand there,” Jeonghan says.

            Mingyu licks his lips. “But I’m—”

            “Just _fucking_ —stand there.”

            Mingyu shifts on his feet, fingers curling in at his sides in embarrassment. Jeonghan looks at him naked—the rich caramel of his skin, the muscular smoothness of his chest, his boyish hip line and his long legs, what’s between them that’s already partially hard. Jeonghan has touched every part of Mingyu and vice versa. Does he regret it? He meant it when he said that being with Mingyu was incredible for him, so does he wish it hadn’t happened?

            He looks for a while longer at Mingyu’s body and then shakes his head. “Shit. _Fuck_.”

            Mingyu looks down.

            Jeonghan sighs and waves his hand again. “Okay. You better still be clean.”

            Mingyu shifts awkwardly again. “We—I am. We…always used condoms.”

            Jeonghan is about to ask if Minghao fucked Mingyu too, but then he realizes he doesn’t even want to know. He nods. “Fine. Okay. Just—”

            “And I…have one. If you wanted that. And it’s,” he looks sideways, “pre-lubricated. So…”

            Jeonghan looks blankly over at him. He and Mingyu stopped using condoms after their first few times together. But it’s not like Jeonghan has to ask why he would have one then, or why he might need one like that quickly or in a place where he wasn’t exactly prepared. He says, “Fine. Just get yourself ready.”

            Mingyu nods, looking at the floor. “Are you going to watch?”

            Jeonghan makes a face at him. “Do you want this or not? Who gives a fuck if I watch? Like I haven’t seen you jerking off before.”

            Mingyu shrugs like he knows it doesn’t matter what he says anymore because Jeonghan is in charge. “Okay. Yeah.”

            Jeonghan kicks off his shoes and starts for the buttons of his shirt but then pauses. He looks around the office. “How are we doing this?”

            Mingyu stands up from his pile of clothes on the ground, packet in his fingers, and glances around. “I…I could just sit in—”

            “I wasn’t asking you,” Jeonghan says, looking sharply at Mingyu. He sighs and turns toward the desk. “I don’t want you sitting in his chair.” He squints at the desk, thinking.

            “What are you—”

            Jeonghan waves a hand, cutting him off. “I’m memorizing it. I intend to leave my best friend’s things exactly how we found them.”

            “On the desk but not the chair?”

            “It’s fucking different, Mingyu.” Under his breath, he says, starting for the desk, “You could never take his place.”

            Mingyu swallows and tears open the foil in his hands.

            Jeonghan pushes Seungcheol’s chair back and stands in front of the desk, looking at everything on it. Files holding articles for publication after the holidays, logbooks, telephone. There’s a pen that Jeonghan gave Seungcheol for another birthday some years ago—wooden, swirled layers in shades of brown, fountain tipped in silver. Aligned perfectly parallel with Seungcheol’s day planner—the one Jeonghan had the portfolio made for that he’s giving Seungcheol tomorrow—the pen still looks as shiny as it was the day Jeonghan had it made.

            He starts to move everything to the far right side of the desk. “Are you too tall for this?” he asks, placing the pen carefully on top of Seungcheol’s planner.

            From behind him, Mingyu says, “It’s a tall desk. I’ll make it work.” And then he adds, a little quieter, “Of course I will.”

            Jeonghan doesn’t say anything. He only hopes he can remember where everything is supposed to go. Stupid, since he could just not be doing this at all. But they’re already too far gone to stop, and how could he take back the truth.

            Mingyu did this. Mingyu made him crazy.

            He begins to remove his clothes.

            After a moment, Mingyu says quietly, “You’re really beautiful, Han.”

            Jeonghan turns, down to only his underwear, to see Mingyu staring at his body, hands together in front of him, fully hard and covered now.

            If there was one thing Mingyu didn’t lie about, it was how much he loved Jeonghan’s body. Mingyu never really did take his hands off him if he had the chance to touch him, even in little ways—the hands on his waist, the arm over his shoulders, the fingertips brushing back his hair. The palm on his lower back. Mingyu worshipped his body, and now Jeonghan is starting to wonder if that was the only reason he ever got with him in the first place, and if it’s the reason he’s with Minghao now, worshipping a body he might like even better than Jeonghan’s.

            He looks into Mingyu’s eyes and says, “I know I am. And after this, you’ll never see me again.”

            Mingyu’s eyes return to the floor.

            Jeonghan steps out of his underwear and puts them in Seungcheol’s chair with his folded pants and shirt. He looks at the cleared desk again, adjusts his glasses, and says, “All right. Where do we start.”

            He gasps when Mingyu’s left hand grabs his hip and pulls him backwards against his chest. Jeonghan feels their skin in contact, Mingyu’s just as smooth and soft as it always was, and yet his body lean and solid. Mingyu’s hand slips upward and rests at his waist, his right hand finding his ass and squeezing gently. Jeonghan closes his eyes and whispers, “Oh god…”

            He gasps again when Mingyu’s pushes into him all at once. His head falls back against Mingyu’s shoulder and his left hand clutches at Mingyu’s against his body, their fingers locking naturally together. Mingyu’s lips come close to his ear and he whispers, “Hands down,” and Mingyu draws their hands away from Jeonghan’s body and towards the desk. Jeonghan follows suit, bending over, settling his hands on the edge of the wood.

            But of course, Mingyu’s hands don’t leave him. It was Jeonghan’s favorite part before—Mingyu touching him—besides getting to kiss Mingyu. Now it just hurts—not physically, but deep in his chest. Mingyu seems so gentle, so caring, and he _is_ those things. But deep in Mingyu’s chest, none of it truly matters, because there will always be more than just Jeonghan, or Minghao, or any guy that Mingyu has been with in his life. All that matters to Mingyu is Mingyu. He says he’s sorry, he says he likes Jeonghan a lot and more than he did when he plucked him off the street like a game piece, he seems emotional that Jeonghan had emotions for him. But Jeonghan can’t tell anymore what are lies and truth from Mingyu’s pretty lips. He figures he never really could.

            And so it doesn’t matter if those things are true. No matter how much it hurts, this is the last time Mingyu is going to see him, touch him, hear him, feel him this way. And Mingyu knows that, and that’s why he’s being so gentle and careful right now, and why it hurts that much more.

            “Hannie…” Mingyu says, and he pulls back and pushes in slowly.

            Jeonghan’s fingers hold to the desk, and his brain tells him not to pay attention to how good and how full and how _normal_ Mingyu feels inside of him, but his body and his heart want to feel every last thing they can. He lowers his head, his hair falling in his face, bites down hard on his lower lip, and he lets Mingyu push into him over and over again.

            Mingyu does, holding Jeonghan’s hips, making low, soft sounds behind him. Sometimes he says _Jeonghan_ or _Hannie_ as if he’s about to ask something or say something more, but he never does. Not until Jeonghan is feeling his stomach start to burn and Mingyu says, “Han. Will you look at me?”

            _No_ , Jeonghan thinks. _You ruined everything. I don’t want to see you or your face or your eyes or your anything ever again._ He says in a breath, “Yes, Mingyu.”

            He stands, and Mingyu pulls out of him so he can turn around. Jeonghan turns and looks up at Mingyu through his glasses. Mingyu blinks at him, and then he bends down and picks Jeonghan up easily to place him on the desk, though Jeonghan could have done it on his own. Jeonghan keeps his knees apart, and he finds that his arms are around Mingyu’s neck when he didn’t know he put them there. He takes them away and starts to lay back.

            “Be careful, Hannie,” Mingyu says softly, bringing a hand around to Jeonghan’s lower back and easing him down to the desk. Jeonghan stares up at him, gorgeous even in the artificial lights of this office. He shakes his head imperceptibly.

            Mingyu smiles at him, just the corners of his lips lifting in a sad attempt. He grabs under Jeonghan’s thighs and lifts his legs, hooking them in his arms, tilting Jeonghan’s hips upward. He pushes back in.

            Jeonghan tries to stifle another gasp, but instead it makes a quiet whimper in his throat, and he has to forcefully shut his mouth. Months of worshipping his body has given Mingyu a brilliant mental map of even the places he can’t see. It never takes long for him to find what he’s looking for.

            Mingyu does that sad smile again, and he resumes his pushing, watching Jeonghan’s face closely. Jeonghan tries not to react so much—Mingyu doesn’t deserve it—but it’s hard to stop the sharp breaths and little whines. Were Mingyu to push harder, go faster, Jeonghan’s noises would be a lot more, but Mingyu is making it last. Jeonghan tells himself he isn’t thankful for that.

            But eventually Mingyu does lose some control over his hips, and his brows furrow together and his eyes squeeze shut. He drops Jeonghan’s legs, and for some reason Jeonghan keeps them up, wrapping them around Mingyu’s body. Mingyu leans down over him, his parted hair lined with sweat, his face half the distance from Jeonghan’s it was before. He opens his eyes to look into Jeonghan’s face and says, “Jeonghan?”

            Jeonghan’s breath catches in his throat and he starts to come, his legs tightening around Mingyu’s lower back, his palms coming up to press against Mingyu’s chest. He moans once, then tilts his head to the side to shut himself up and to stop looking at Mingyu.

            Mingyu pushes him through it, and when he comes his voice breaks in his moan and one elbow gives, lowering him further over Jeonghan’s body.

            They breathe together. When Jeonghan looks straight again, he finds his face very close to Mingyu’s, his hands soft against Mingyu’s chest, his legs still wrapped around him. Mingyu gazes into his eyes, hardly blinking, and their lips are very close to touching.

            By some ridiculous urge, Jeonghan nearly wraps his arms around Mingyu and pulls himself up to close the distance and forgive him.

            But then he thinks of Mingyu that day—the day he gave Mingyu the watch he wore almost never, the day Mingyu decided that Jeonghan wasn’t enough. He thinks of Mingyu saying, _God, I love kissing you_.

            Truth? Or just another lie.

            He’s not quite sure who he’s talking to when he says, “Don’t.”

            Mingyu swallows heavily and pushes up away from Jeonghan’s body. “Yeah. Sorry. I just…wanted to.”

            “And I wanted a lot of things.”

            Mingyu looks away and stands, pulling out of Jeonghan, stepping back.

            Jeonghan sits up and motions to the tissues on the shelf behind the desk.

            Mingyu reaches for one, then picks up the whole box instead, handing it to him.

            Jeonghan cleans himself gently, holding the tissues out for Mingyu to take a few. Mingyu does, and when he’s done with himself he stands there, watching, and plays with his fingers in front of his belly.

            It’s over now. They’re officially, finally done. As Jeonghan turns to start replacing Seungcheol’s things in their right spot, the memory of the desk and the items and the things he’s given Seungcheol over the years somehow perfect in his mind, he feels the weight start to lift off of him. It isn’t gone, but it’s gradually easing back, one gram at a time. Mingyu is only Mingyu now—not an ex, not a cheater, not the man who might have broken his heart. Mingyu, and nothing more.

            Mingyu watches him wordlessly—Jeonghan can feel his eyes on him, on his face, from his periphery. He places the wooden silver-tipped pen in the final spot, straightening it just the way Seungcheol had it, and says, “Get dressed, Mingyu.”

            “Okay.”

            Jeonghan goes to his clothes. Mingyu dresses much faster than he does, his expensive suit becoming nearly impeccable once again. Jeonghan wonders briefly what kind of things a man has to do to get that good at dressing quickly. He supposes the same practice goes for kissing, or sex, or manipulation.

            Jeonghan begins buttoning his shirt and says simply, “All right.”

            “Does that make a hundred and six?” Mingyu says.

            Jeonghan shakes his head, half-tucking his shirt. Mingyu really is just Mingyu.

            “I’m sorry,” Mingyu says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shit like that just comes out now. Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

            “It doesn’t matter how many times it was now that you’ve done it even once with him,” Jeonghan says. He laughs humorlessly. “And I’m sure it was more than just once.”

            Mingyu watches Jeonghan brushing his fingers through his hair, smoothing it down, and adjusting his glasses. “You’re still perfect, Jeonghan.”

            “And you’re still you. Goodbye, Mingyu.”

            Mingyu nods at him. “Goodbye, Jeonghan. I really am sorry.”

            “Tell Minghao how sorry you are.” He smiles halfway and snaps his fingers. “But then you probably wouldn’t have him either, would you.”

            Mingyu says, “Can I call you when you’re not feeling so upset? Maybe we can talk then.”

            Jeonghan looks at him. “Mingyu, you can kiss my ass. Have a merry Christmas.”

            Mingyu nods again. “Merry Christmas, Jeonghan.”

            And Jeonghan leaves first.

            He doesn’t mind the looks when they reach the main office again, but Mingyu fancies the floor instead. Conversation doesn’t stop though, and Mingyu goes quietly back to Jisoo, who’s lifting an accusing brow at him. Jeonghan meets eyes with Chan for a second, and Chan is giving him that eyebrows up worried look he gets, and Jeonghan winks at him. Chan turns back to Soonyoung who starts to explain it. Jeonghan goes to the drink table, and Jihoon naturally falls away to wonder what Junhui is thinking of the party. Jeonghan stands by Seungcheol’s side, leaning against the table, watching the party, brushing his hair back from his face.

            “I’m sorry about that,” he says.

            Seungcheol shakes his head. “Don’t worry. I’m proud of you.”

            “And I’m sorry about your office.” In hindsight, he should have taken the trash.

            Seungcheol pauses, figuring it out. He laughs once and says, “No big deal. How are you?”

            Jeonghan looks around. He sees Mingyu with his hand coolly in his pocket, but his head is down while Jisoo talks at him. It looks like Jisoo is saying _…idea what you just lost?_ “I’m okay,” Jeonghan says. “A little fucked up, but I’ll be okay soon. Eventually. Maybe I’m done with guys for a while.”

            “Yeah?” Seungcheol nods. “I get that. Just a little longer then.”

            Jeonghan looks over at him, at each of his features. All this time and he never noticed that Seungcheol has really long eyelashes.

            Seungcheol nods again for some reason and says, “Just a little.”

            Jeonghan blinks and turns back to the party. “I might have taken down your mistletoe by accident too.”

            Seungcheol chuckles. “It’s all right. Maybe I won’t need it.”

            Jeonghan nods, mind elsewhere. “I’m glad we told each other no presents this year. I’m sure he was glad enough to not get me anything.”

            Seungcheol clicks his tongue. “Don’t worry. I’ve definitely got you covered on that one.”

            Jeonghan looks at him and his mouth opens. “What? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

            “Since when do we not get each other presents for Christmas or birthdays or Wednesdays?”

            Jeonghan tisks, shaking his head. “I guess it’s a good thing I got you a few things too, then.”

            Seungcheol smiles and leans into his side briefly. Jeonghan leans too, and then turns to watch his coworkers and friends again, admiring how happy they all are.

            After a moment, Seungcheol says, “Sure you’re good, though? Want to come over tonight and cry about it?”

            Jeonghan takes a deep breath. “No, I don’t need to cry.”

            Seungcheol nods, looking at his watch—the one Jeonghan gave him two years ago that he wears every day. “Want to come over anyway?”

            Jeonghan looks at him again, his boss and his best friend and the person he loves more than anyone. He thinks, _Now I’ll wake up alone, with no one next to me at all._ Maybe he thought that a little too soon. Maybe he’s been thinking the wrong things for a very long time. He forgets to answer.

            “If you want to,” Seungcheol says. “No pressure. I just want you to be okay. I always want that.”

            And Jeonghan thinks, _…my person, the perfect prince who would stand by me for life._

            Seungcheol shifts his legs and says, “I didn’t mean to—”

            “Yeah, Seungcheol. I think so.”

            Seungcheol looks at him, smiles his easy, calm, perfect smile, and Jeonghan realizes that where there was vacancy behind Mingyu’s, Seungcheol’s is full of _something_.

            “Cool,” Seungcheol says. He pauses and then adds, “And, you know, the holidays aren’t done yet. And you deserve what you wanted for them. So.” He looks forward, lifts his drink to his lips.

            Jeonghan smiles, then smiles wider, and he starts to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was supposed to just be Gyuhan fighting it out, but then I accidentally wrote that end bit with Cheol, and then I accidentally wrote all those other parts in the flashbacks with Cheol too…I guess I got carried away but uh I love Jeongcheol so.  
> Yeah uhhhhh,,,,,, I really want to write a Christmas Day sequel to this. Hm.
> 
> ALSO: if you guys have any song requests/ships that you'd like to see I’d be happy to try them since that’s how “A Daydream Away” came about. As long as I’ve not already planned the song. Till next time!


	10. Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later, Seokmin slips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "A Daydream Away"

_“Hey Soonyoung?”_

_Soonyoung looks over at Seokmin sitting next to him on the dock. “Yeah?”_

_Seokmin waits for a moment, looking into Soonyoung’s eyes. In the sun and the heat, his heart beats faster. “I think I’m in love with you.”_

_Soonyoung smiles at him, and the sunlight catches on his cheeks. “Yeah? You should have said something earlier.” He laughs. “So we could just get it out of the way, you know?” He brings his hand up and pats Seokmin twice on the shoulder. “Thanks.”_

_Seokmin looks at his shoulder, then back at Soonyoung who’s looked away, then nods and turns back to look at the water. Inside of him, his heart wanes._

_Did he expect something different? Why would he? Why would Soonyoung turn to him and say how sorry he is and how it just isn’t that way for him and how they can still be best friends? Soonyoung isn’t like that. For Soonyoung, things are straightforward. Soonyoung doesn’t hide, and Soonyoung always tells the truth._

_And of course, why would Soonyoung turn to him and say that he’s in love with Seokmin too? How could Seokmin expect anything other than this?_

_He says, “Oh. You’re welcome.”_

_Soonyoung smiles again, closing his eyes for a moment and tilting his face up toward the light. “We don’t like the same things, anyway. Music. Or girls. And you know how much,” he looks at the water and kicks his foot at it, “I hate swimming in lakes.”_

_High up, the wind brings a cloud over the circle of the sun in the sky. The shadow covers Seokmin first, and he frowns._

_What? They do like the same music. Sometimes they share headphones when they walk between classes. And they come here and Soonyoung swims in this lake at least once a week when the weather is good. This is_ their _dock. That doesn’t make any—_

He blinks his eyes open. In the dim of five a.m., a chill runs over his skin. He looks down and sees that the covers have been pulled off of half his body, leaving him open to the cold of the start of winter.

            He shifts in the bed, carefully, turning onto his back and tugging the covers just enough to keep him warm. Looking to the side, he sees the back of Soonyoung’s blonde hair, his roots growing in at the top, just peeking out from under the bundle of sheets and comforter that he stole in his sleep.

            It wells in Seokmin’s chest—the need to say it, to get it out, one more time. Only the walls of his own room know now—he never dared to say it here in Soonyoung’s room lest Soonyoung somehow hear the remainder of it once Seokmin was gone. But he has to get it out. He’s cold and he was dreaming. He has to.

            He draws in a slow, calm breath and whispers, “Hey, Soonyoung. I think I’m in love with you.”

            Next to him, Soonyoung doesn’t move.

            Seokmin returns to his back, takes another breath, and closes his eyes again.

…

 

“How’s it going with her, anyway?” Seokmin asks.

            Soonyoung keeps his eyes on his phone turned horizontally in his hands. He’s across from Seokmin at the table, sideways in his chair with his feet kicked up. Seokmin listens to the quiet sounds of Soonyoung’s game while he does homework.

            “We had sex,” Soonyoung says.

            The graphite in Seokmin’s mechanical pencil snaps and flies away. He pauses before bringing his thumb up, clicking out the next piece.

            “I don’t know if I told you,” Soonyoung continues.

            Seokmin shakes his head and focuses his eyes on his mathematics. Soonyoung’s phone plays a succession of lowering notes that sound like he lost a round. “You didn’t,” Seokmin says.

            Soonyoung hums and starts a new round. “Yeah. We did.”

            Seokmin nods again, solving an equation. His body feels dull, recessed into the air around him. They’ve been dating for two months. He has no right to feel this way about it.

            “It was,” Soonyoung says, then stops. The sounds of his game stop too.

            Seokmin looks up at him.

            “I don’t know if it was me or if there just wasn’t enough,” Soonyoung says, looking at what must be a paused screen. “It wasn’t what I expected. What I thought it would be.”

            Seokmin says, “I’m sorry. It seemed like you two were getting close.”

            Soonyoung shakes his head. “Don’t know. Hindsight, I think it was just fun. Us in general. Which is why doing that wasn’t what it could have been. Odd, though. She’s so pretty.” His brows go down. “That was a few weeks ago and it hasn’t gotten better since. So.”

            Inside of Seokmin, terribly, his heart grows. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

            Soonyoung’s face returns to normal and he shrugs. “No big deal. I think she’s already talking to someone else.” He unpauses his game.

            Seokmin watches him focus on the screen. Soonyoung’s lips stick out a bit the way they do sometimes when he’s concentrating. Seokmin wonders how anyone could give Soonyoung up so easily. He doesn’t mean to, but he says, “Wow.”

            Soonyoung shrugs again. “I’ve always thought that girl in your economics class was pretty.”

            Seokmin looks back down at his homework. “You don’t have classes with her, do you?”

            “Nope. You think you might talk to her for me? If I decide that?”

            Seokmin writes out a polynomial and doesn’t notice that he misses two numbers. “Yeah, of course. Just let me know.”

            Soonyoung doesn’t answer, so Seokmin looks up again. Soonyoung is looking at him. His game continues on; the losing notes play again. Soonyoung tilts his head a little bit. “Hm.” He starts a new round.

            Seokmin looks at him, then erases his work to rewrite it.

 

…

 

“Hey Seokmin?”

            They’re sitting on the circular roof of the tallest piece of a children’s playground today, back to back. Seokmin would look, but Soonyoung is behind him. “Yeah?”

            “Do you have a crush on anyone?”

            Seokmin gazes out at the field in front of him. On Soonyoung’s side, trees separate the playground and the street. Seokmin realizes it’s been more than a year since Soonyoung last asked him. No match for the length of his crush. They’ll graduate high school at the end of this year.

            He answers the same, anyway. “I don’t know.”

            Then Soonyoung says, “You don’t have to lie to me.”

            Seokmin blinks. He makes the effort and turns around to look at Soonyoung. “What?”

            Soonyoung doesn’t turn. “There’s only one honest answer. Tell me.”

            Honest. Yes. Of course he has a crush. He’s had a crush since the fourth grade. A massive, debilitating crush on Soonyoung.

            But what can he say? He swore to himself he would never tell. In sixth grade, when Soonyoung told him he had his first kiss with a girl after school, Seokmin knew he would never show Soonyoung his feelings, never allow Soonyoung to know in any way. He put up a wall between Soonyoung and himself—or, at least, between Soonyoung and his feelings. Since then, he’s been sure that if Soonyoung ever found out, everything would be over. Soonyoung can’t know.

            But does he? Did Seokmin slip up? Did he have one too many sips of beer some weekend? Was Soonyoung _awake_?

            He can’t lie to Soonyoung. Not this time.

            After a while he says, “Yes. I do.”

            From behind him, Seokmin watches Soonyoung shake his head and say, “That’s still not it.”

            As in his dream, Seokmin’s heart wanes in his chest. He can’t often tell how Soonyoung is feeling right away, and now he can’t even see his face. Is Soonyoung angry? Upset? Just questioning him?

            If only they were sitting next to each other.

            “It’s not?” Seokmin says.

            “No. Tell me the whole truth. You don’t have a crush, Seokmin.”

            Seokmin thinks, _What would you say if someone told you they loved you?_

            He swallows heavily and says, “Soonyoung, I think I’m in love. With you.”

            Soonyoung finally turns around to face him. His skin is pale and his lips are red from the winter and the cold. On them is an amazing soft smile.

            Seokmin wants to freeze this moment for eternity.

            “There it is,” Soonyoung says. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it before. I love you too, Seokmin. But you’ll have to give me some time to think about it.”

            Seokmin can only stare at him there, smiling. Each thought he has then contradicts the previous. Yes, Seokmin loves Soonyoung, but he’s also in love with him. For Soonyoung, he isn’t sure of the same. Was he rejected or not? Soonyoung is straight…isn’t he?

            He says, “Okay.”

            Soonyoung smiles at him for a moment longer, then turns and jumps off the playground, landing in the mulch. “Did you hear about this year’s Nobel laureate in physics? They say he’s marrying an artist at the Yu Garden in China. Let’s go there some day.”

 

…

 

“Since when?” Soonyoung asks.

            Seokmin looks at Soonyoung’s feet dangling in front of him as he leans back against the tree trunk. Soonyoung sits above him one branch up, peeling a tangerine.

            “Fourth grade,” Seokmin says. He tucks his hands in his jacket sleeves, keeping them warm.

            Soonyoung says, “We met in fourth grade.”

            Seokmin hums.

            “Haven’t I changed since then?” Soonyoung asks.

            Of course. They’ve both changed. Everyone changes. Neither of them are the same as they were back then. That doesn’t matter to Seokmin—he’s liked every change, because they were Soonyoung.

            “Yeah,” he says. “That’s you.”

            Soonyoung reaches down and hands Seokmin half the tangerine to eat. “Favorite part about me?”

            Seokmin peels a segment off and puts it in his mouth. Soonyoung is asking him these questions. He doesn’t know what they mean, but he supposes Soonyoung is thinking about it like he said. Seokmin doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have the weight lifted off him for once.

            “Physically?” he asks.

            “Yeah. And don’t say my face.”

            That thought gets put away in Seokmin’s head because it is Soonyoung’s face. He says, “Your neck.”

            Soonyoung’s legs stop swinging. “Why?”

            Seokmin smiles a little. “It’s nice.”

            Soonyoung swings his legs again. “What about not physically?”

            Seokmin eats another tangerine piece, pretending that he has to think about it. “Your pacing. You’re always here then somewhere else then somewhere after that. Keeping up with you is fun. I like being where you are.”

            It’s nice to be able to say things like that, too, now that he at least knows Soonyoung understands what he means. Even if Soonyoung decides on the negative, it’s still nice.

            “A song that makes you think of me?”

            “ _When I Grow Up_ ,” Seokmin says. “I forget who it’s by.”

            Soonyoung sighs. “You have an answer right away.”

            Seokmin watches Soonyoung’s legs, unfortunately mesmerized. “Of course.”

            A long silence falls over them. They both finish their tangerine halves.

            “One more question,” Soonyoung says later.

            Seokmin pulls his jacket close around his body. “Yeah?”

            Soonyoung asks, “Why?”

            Seokmin watches an orange leaf twirl to the ground, dull next to the bright color of their tangerine peel. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just am.”

 

…

 

“I think I’m not opposed to trying.”

            Seokmin looks over at Soonyoung sitting next to him on the bench, waiting for a bus. His turtleneck bunches at his collar, and his new silver earring reflects Seokmin’s movements.

            “You’re not?” Seokmin asks. Something inside him feels like cola bubbles.

            Soonyoung shakes his head. “If it was anyone but you, I don’t know. But it is you. And I do love you.”

            Seokmin blinks. “Don’t do it for me. I’ll be okay. I’ve been okay for a long time.”

            Their bus pulls up. Soonyoung turns to him and blinks back. “Don’t say that. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t want to.”

            Seokmin thinks they should get up, but Soonyoung doesn’t, so he doesn’t either. “Okay. I just—”

            Soonyoung takes his hand and laces their fingers. Looking forward again, he says, “Let’s just start with this.”

            Seokmin pauses. How long has he wanted this? Is this real? He knows he’s not dreaming now, but is this _real_?

            Their bus pulls away, and they both watch it go. Across the street, a boy offers to carry a bag for the girl he’s walking with. She shakes her head and smiles at him, and Seokmin can see her say, _It’s okay. I can get it._

            Seokmin tightens his fingers in Soonyoung’s.

            After a moment, Soonyoung says, “I think I like it already.”

 

…

 

“It’s cold, Soonyoung,” Seokmin says, laughing.

            Soonyoung tugs him by the hand to the edge of their dock. “We’re not swimming today.”

            He takes his spot on the edge where he always sits, and Seokmin does the same. Today, he moves a little bit closer to Soonyoung.

            “Just talking?” Seokmin asks.

            “Like always.”

            Seokmin nods. It is too cold to swim, but he doesn’t care what they do. They could sit here in silence together for an hour if Soonyoung wanted, and Seokmin would be okay with it. Now, Soonyoung would hold his hand the whole time. As far as Seokmin knows, Soonyoung is still thinking about it. He doesn’t mind. With this, he’s happy.

            “Plus, I want you to kiss me today.”

            Seokmin’s entire soul seems to leap in surprise. He looks at Soonyoung with wide eyes. “Me?”

            Soonyoung’s gaze is calm. “Yeah. If you want to.”

            Of course he wants to. He just never thought… “Can you do it?” he asks.

            Soonyoung smiles and shakes his head. “Nope. I want Lee Seokmin who is in love with me to kiss me.”

            Seokmin draws in a breath and says, “But I’ve never kissed anyone.”

            Soonyoung’s eyebrows twitch. “Sure you have. Middle school or something.”

            Seokmin shakes his head. His palm feels hot against Soonyoung’s despite the chill. “When? I’ve always just been at home or…”

            Soonyoung’s smile fades.

            Seokmin is being kissed before he knows it. Their lips stick in the cold, though their breath is warm together. Soonyoung’s mouth is gentle and slow against his, and though Seokmin doesn’t know how to do this, he tries, and he finds himself the most thankful he’s ever been in his life, especially that Soonyoung is still holding his hand. He wonders if Soonyoung likes his lips when his own are so much fuller.

            The kiss lingers on Seokmin’s lips when Soonyoung leans back. “Or with me,” Soonyoung says.

            Seokmin imagines his cheeks now match the tip of his nose in redness. “Yeah.”

            Soonyoung smiles and squeezes his hand. He moves close enough to Seokmin on the dock that their legs touch. “I’m surprised. You’re too handsome for that.”

            A breeze blows, making the water ripple in fractions of waves, and Seokmin shivers.

 

…

 

“You wore my favorite shorts on you,” Soonyoung says.

            Seokmin looks down at them. The middle of spring is here, and Seokmin figured he’d wear them today. They’re just black, typical shorts, if not a tiny bit short for him. His thighs fill them out maybe a little much here on the sofa at Soonyoung’s house. But he wears them all the time because Soonyoung gave them to him two years ago on his birthday.

            “Oh,” he says. “Really? I like them. You gave these to me.”

            Soonyoung smiles and nods. “Mhm.” After a moment he says, “I was wondering if I could take them off of you.”

            It takes some time for Seokmin to comprehend what he said, and then he looks over at Soonyoung’s relaxed expression. “You…”

            “I want to try. I like you. If you want to.”

            Seokmin’s mouth sits open half a centimeter. “I…”

            Soonyoung turns toward him. “I know that if you’d not kissed someone before then you must not have had sex before either. So we’ll do whatever you want. Not do anything, if that’s what it means. It’s just a suggestion.” His mouth curls up on one corner and his eyes flick down to Seokmin’s lips briefly. “And maybe a hope.”

            If Soonyoung can make him feel so overwhelmed just by mentioning it…he wonders how much more it will be if he says yes. He takes in an unsteady breath.

            Soonyoung places a gentle hand on his thigh, half over his shorts, half directly on his skin.

            Seokmin looks into his eyes.

 

“How?” Soonyoung asks.

            “However,” Seokmin replies.

            Soonyoung shakes his head. His face is so close above Seokmin that he thinks if Soonyoung’s hair were a little longer it would brush his cheeks. “You owe me nothing for this,” Soonyoung says. “I want this.”

            Seokmin looks at his face, then between them at his body, the top half of which he’d seen many times before but the bottom half of which is new to him, smooth and forbidden and exciting. He tightens his hands into nervous fists at his sides and whispers, “Gently,” and opens his legs a little more, pulling his knees up towards his chest.

            Soonyoung brings his lips to Seokmin’s and does as he said.

            Seokmin’s nails bite into his own palms, because even though Soonyoung is gentle, it’s still strange. He whimpers, and Soonyoung hushes him. Seokmin asks him some question he’ll forget later, and Soonyoung answers with a smile and a soft laugh. He asks Seokmin if he’s okay. He brings a hand to Seokmin’s wrist and pulls it up so that Seokmin will hold his body, and Seokmin does. In time, Soonyoung has Seokmin gasping, pulling him closer without the knowledge he’s doing it, wrapping an arm around his neck, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to let his thighs get too tight around Soonyoung’s waist. Soonyoung tells him not to let go, not to be quiet, _please_ don’t be quiet. Soonyoung shows him, and, Seokmin hopes, he shows Soonyoung.

 

They’re quiet, lying there together. Soonyoung messes with his own bangs, his other hand locked with Seokmin’s by his side. Seokmin reaches down and pulls the covers over his waist a little bit more. They look at the ceiling.

            “It was,” Soonyoung says, then stops.

            Seokmin doesn’t need to ask. For once, he knows. He says, “It was.”

            “You would do anything for me,” Soonyoung says. “I’m only just seeing it now.” He shakes his head.

            Seokmin shrugs, then nods.

            “You would even talk to a girl for me. Seokmin, that makes no sense at all.”

            Seokmin smiles a little. “If it made you happy.”

            Soonyoung lets go of his hand and gets up on his elbow, looking down at him with a frown. “You know what?”

            Seokmin blinks at him. “What?”

            Soonyoung climbs over him and takes hold of his face, and he kisses him heavily, biting his lower lip. Seokmin can’t help a sound, pawing at Soonyoung’s chest.

            Soonyoung breaks it suddenly and says, “You’re not fair.”

            In a breath, Seokmin asks, “Why not?”

            “Because now that I know and now that I see how good kissing you is and now that we’ve done this together and it was all that and now that I think something’s happening here, I don’t know if I have any other choice besides you. How could I?”

            Seokmin shakes his head imperceptibly, Soonyoung’s palms warm and familiar against his cheeks. “Wh—”

            “I mean,” Soonyoung waves his hand out before putting it back on Seokmin’s face. “You’re everything. You’ve always been everything.” He shakes his head with a tisk and kisses Seokmin again, over and over.

            “Sorry,” Seokmin says, holding back a smile.

            The bed shakes when Soonyoung flops back down next to him. “Oh well. I’ll just deal with it.” He takes Seokmin’s hand again.

            Maybe this had always been coming. Maybe this could have happened sooner, Seokmin thinks, if he had said something. But maybe then wouldn’t have been the right time. Maybe now is perfect.

            Randomly, Soonyoung says, “I love when you sleep talk.”

            Seokmin realizes that he might have said it when Soonyoung knew but he didn’t. All that time, maybe he’d been a fool for even allowing himself to dream. “Oh. Did I—”

            “No,” Soonyoung says. “Only when you woke up. But I still like it.”

            Seokmin’s body warms. “Oh.”

            “I think I’ll get to hear it more now.”

 

…

 

“That’s an easy one. Your hands,” Soonyoung says.

            Seokmin grins as Soonyoung takes hold of both his hands and messes with his fingers. “Thank you,” he says.

            Soonyoung holds them tightly and says, “And your mole. I have to pick two.”

            “That’s not fair,” Seokmin says, thinking of all the times Soonyoung has kissed just to the left of his nose. “I only got one.”

            “And your indestructibility,” Soonyoung says. “Your happiness and your kindness never falter.”

            Seokmin sighs and says, “We really should study.”

            Exams are soon, though both of them have good enough grades that they will graduate above average even if they flunked every final. Soonyoung continues to hold Seokmin’s hands, looks next to them at their notebooks on the kitchen floor, and says, “So, Seokmin.”

            Seokmin laughs. “So, Soonyoung.”

            “What would you say if someone told you they loved you?”

            Seokmin grins, and it makes Soonyoung grin too. “I would say, I love them too.”

            Soonyoung nods. “Good. What would you say if someone told you they were in love with you?”

            Seokmin’s eyes widen as Soonyoung’s hands squeeze his. “I…I would…”

            Soonyoung leans forward and kisses him deeply. “With you and no one else.”

            Seokmin feels his mind clear at last.

            Soonyoung leans back and sighs loudly. He spreads his hands in a big motion and says, “We’re shooting love in real time, Lee Seokmin.”

            Seokmin looks at Soonyoung’s face, his pretty lips, his pretty eyes, his pretty everything. “Are we?”

            “Uh huh. _Real_ love. And I think we make a pretty good movie.” He turns to sit next to Seokmin, leaning back against the cabinets with him. He picks up Seokmin’s notebook and hands it to him with a smile.

            Seokmin takes it and places it in his lap. He watches Soonyoung do the same with his, watches him focus in on his notes. He thinks about him, and he looks down at his notebook.

            Then Soonyoung hums like he has something to say. “Hey Seokmin?”

            Seokmin looks over at him.


	11. Six Feet Under the Stars (Acoustic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soonyoung has a habit of writing letters to Jihoon.
> 
> WARNING

**7**

“Death is sort of like hide and seek.”

            Soonyoung gazes upward at the sky—atmospheric blue, devoid of clouds. His head is pillowed in Jihoon’s lap. Jihoon, cross-legged underneath him, is playing with his bangs.

            “Is it?” Soonyoung asks.

            Jihoon takes in a deep breath. Right now, he still can. “Yes. One day you’ll be counting down from fifty, and you’ll open your eyes. And I won’t be there anymore.”

            Soonyoung pays close attention to the feeling of Jihoon’s fingertips, and his legs underneath his neck. In the breeze, the long grass around them makes waves that Soonyoung can only see in his periphery. To him, the sky is the sea; to Jihoon, the field. To both of them, the sound of the ocean is the same.

            “It’s so hot,” he says.

            Jihoon smiles.

            Soonyoung closes his eyes, and is too afraid to count.

 

 

**X**

Soonyoung reaches the top of the stairs and opens the door to his room. When he closes it behind him, he feels the black scarf that’s tied to the door handle against his palm. He turns on his light, looking up at the ceiling fan. He looks over at his desk chair, and it eyes him back.

            He pulls out the chair to sit.

            Loose leaf is better—he can fold it and tuck it away into the drawer with the others. He takes out one piece of paper and finds a pen. He prefers silence, but this time he’ll just have to deal with the music downstairs.

 

_I know I shouldn’t be doing this now, at my own party, but…I just wanted to let you know that I got into Seoul National. All that work paid off, huh? I still think you shouldn’t have studied with me._

_Anyway. It’s my birthday today. I miss your presence. Ha ha get it? Mom got me a jacket and a new laptop. I told her my old laptop was good enough but she insisted on this one that you can turn the screen around and draw on it like a tablet. It’s really cool. I don’t know if I’ll ever use it._

_I know that’s not what you want to hear. It’s just been so long, Jihoon. Time has become drops and they just keep falling and falling. I don’t know how much longer_

 

He stops, holding the pen above the next word’s potential. He told himself he wouldn’t say these kinds of things to Jihoon. Jihoon would kill him for it.

 

_I’ll draw you something maybe if I get the chance. I’ll draw you. I’ll make sure every strand of that gorgeous blond hair is perfect. Not a single one out of place. Would that be okay?_

_I want to kiss you. I’m 23 today. I know I’m not very good at drawing but I’ll try. I want to kiss you._

 

He stops again, wondering if he should lock his door. He sits and thinks for a moment, gazing at the scarf, then forgets it. He goes to the next line.

 

 

**15**

The rain is cold on Soonyoung’s face while he jogs through. He watches him disappear down into the subway. Soonyoung draws in a quick breath and hopes he isn’t too late, or that the train isn’t too early. He crosses the street, shoes splashing on the asphalt. The plastic bag in his hand makes noise as if it’s telling him to hurry. He goes down the stairs.

            He’s standing at the edge, just behind the yellow line. Soonyoung lets his eyes slip closed for a moment as he walks over.

            “I got you this.” He holds the plastic bag out in one hand.

            He looks up at him. It’s the first time Soonyoung has seen his face this close up, this straight on. He’s shockingly attractive, phenomenally beautiful.

            “What is it?” he asks.

            Soonyoung grins at the response. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a single ramen cup, patterned in green. “The brand is called Soon. My name is Soonyoung.”

            He looks at the ramen cup. “Vegetarian.”

            “It’s the best broth I’ve ever tasted,” Soonyoung says.

            He looks at him again. “Have you been following me?”

            Soonyoung lowers his hand. His heart palpitates; he can feel it in his throat. “Today?”

            “Every day.”

            Soonyoung can’t take his eyes away from his gaze. “I just wanted to know your name.”

            “You don’t want to be with me,” he says, not as a response, but as a fact.

            Soonyoung twitches. His hand tightens on the cup. “I do.”

            The train he takes every day pulls in, and people start to get on. Soonyoung’s heart races.

            He takes the ramen from Soonyoung’s hand. “You have to listen to me, okay? It’ll be a mistake for you to meet me here again tomorrow.” He starts to back towards the subway doors.

            “I won’t regret it,” Soonyoung says.

            “You will.” He stops just before he steps onto the train. “My name is Jihoon.”

           

 

**X**

_There was an accident. Somewhere along the line down your life path, somebody messed something up. I can’t believe this is what they handed to you. It should have been way later, after years and years and we had a place together and whatever you wanted. After a thousand trips to the beach and ten thousand mornings and a million chances to look at you. I should have been able to hold onto your hands and kiss you in front of everybody before we had our first dance. You should have been able to watch my graduation day. We should have been able to meet halfway across the floor of our apartment after I got home from work too late so I could apologize and you could forgive me. I should have been able to map the wrinkles on your face while you talked to me about that one time we laid in the sun in a field for three hours and you played with my hair when we were young. Do you remember that? How is it fair that you got to do that but you didn’t get to come to my birthday party tonight? How is any of it fair?_

 

His hand hurts and his writing is too sloppy. Jihoon sometimes told him he had a temper. He flexes his fingers.

 

_I’m sorry. I am so madly in love with you._

 

In the cabinet downstairs he has a bottle of his medication. He could even use the stairs themselves.

 

 

**13**

Jihoon’s lips get even redder when Soonyoung kisses them. The apples of his cheeks are flushed pink after they make love, matching with the soft inner parts of his thighs. If Soonyoung’s lips left prints in their wake, Jihoon’s body would be a masterpiece.

            Jihoon lets his hands come up to Soonyoung’s face.

            Soonyoung notices for the first time the depth of color in Jihoon’s irises—not just brown but slow and thick, like molasses. Soonyoung watches his imagination make them swirl around dilated pupils of negative space in easy, sweet whirlpools.

            “It’s multiple myeloma,” Jihoon says.

            Soonyoung blinks. For some reason, he can’t breathe.

            “Stage three.” Jihoon brushes Soonyoung’s hair out of his eyes, though it only falls back there. “Do you regret me yet?”

            After a while, Soonyoung says, “You always were so pale.”

            Jihoon smiles, wide and soft. “Do you want to know how long?”

            “Tomorrow I’m dropping all my classes,” Soonyoung says.

            Jihoon brushes his cheek with his thumb. “Don’t do that.”

            “You can’t do anything to stop me. You can’t keep me away from you. Even with your shitty blood.”

            “This is me saying you need to live your life.”

            Soonyoung leans down, very close to Jihoon’s lips. “And this is me doing exactly that.”

 

 

**X**

Soonyoung refocuses on the paper. How long has it been?

 

_I was thinking I might go to the beach again soon. I hate it there. I’m so sorry I know that was our place I hate it there. The air smells like you. You’re part of the water now._

 

He just bought new razors. One is open, still untouched, on the sink.

 

_I miss holding your hand, you know? I think I said that before. Maybe last week one day. I mean it. There was that time when we went to Kyoto and that one cherry blossom fell between our hands. Remember? What a movie. This whole thing is one long movie._

_They were in your hair too. They landed there in the blond and you were made of light colors and piano music. Your dimples were perfect cool shade in the sunlight. I’m so mad that you never let me take a picture of you. I’m so mad._

He won’t.

            His pen is running out of ink. Will he need a new one?

 

_I have to go soon. This might be my last letter._

**4**

“This much bleach might make it all fall out, you know.”

            Jihoon laughs. It’s not as strong as it used to be. It comes from higher up in his chest, and lacks essence. “That might have stopped me from the chemo, but not from this.”

            Soonyoung paints chemicals onto the roots of Jihoon’s hair. He would give everything for this to be chemo. “I’ve told you before how much I like your hair, right?”

            “Many more than once,” Jihoon says.

            Soonyoung nods. As badly as he wants to, he won’t look at Jihoon’s face in the mirror.

            “Will you take me to Gwangalli Beach?” Jihoon asks.

            “Sure. We can go tomorrow.”

            “I want you to scatter my ashes there.”

            Soonyoung’s hand shakes. He grasps the brush harder. “If that’s what you want, Jihoon.”

            “Maybe not tomorrow though, huh?” He laughs again.

            He won’t cry. “No. Not tomorrow.”

            He won’t.

           

 

**X**

_I can’t think of any more ways. One of these will have to do._

Someone knocks on his door. He doesn’t answer, and they go away.

 

_I dream about you a lot. You’d think it’d be like in the stories where your face is slowly fading from my memory and you’re becoming a second model of yourself, built from old parts. An afterthought. Some figurine. But you already were one you were already so perfect sculpted from marble hand painted and placed right in front of me what was I supposed to do? Nobody ever told me how easy it was for you to break._

_You were too fragile for me. What could I do. I’m always counting from fifty but I can’t get to one. I do not regret you._

_In my dreams, you never turn around._

_I miss you, Jihoon. Down to the smallest fraction of a second, I miss every moment of you._

 

He puts down his pen.

 

**1**

“Do you remember when we fought about this thing?”

            Soonyoung looks at Jihoon’s portable oxygen. It was hard to get through the sand, but he did it anyway. Soonyoung made him get it, so he pulled it too.

            The half moon’s distant volatile reflection off the ocean cuts out their silhouette. The sound of the water on the shore surrounds them, but Soonyoung can still hear Jihoon’s delicate voice perfectly.

            He knows it isn’t much longer.

            “Yes,” he says.

            “I’m sorry about that.”

            Soonyoung has never recognized the constellations, but the stars still alight on the very tips of Jihoon’s hair.

            “Remember when we went back to my dorm after we were in that field?” he asks.

            Jihoon nods. “You told me I would live forever then.”

            Soonyoung watches the waves play hide and seek with him. “You will.”

            Jihoon looks at Soonyoung and smiles. “Yeah.” He kisses Soonyoung’s cheek, then rests his head on his shoulder. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why my Soonyoung pairing stories are always like this—simple, sad, and very opposite from his personality. I have to admit, this is my new favorite style. Anyway, this was a shortie. As always, thank you for reading!


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